EPILOGUE
(Remit not paucity)
NOVEMBER 2052
Maria left three wreaths propped against the illusion mural at the end of the cul-de-sac. It was not the anniversary of any death, but she placed flowers there whenever the mood took her. She had no graves to decorate; both her parents had been cremated. Paul Durham, too.
She backed away from the wall slowly, and watched the crudely painted garden, with its Corinthian columns and its olive groves, almost come to life. As she reached the point where the perspective of the imaginary avenue merged with that of the road, someone called out, 'Maria?'
She spun around. It was Stephen Chew, another member of the volunteer work team, with pneumatic jackhammer in tow on a small trolley. Maria greeted him, and picked up her shovel. The sewer main in Pyrmont Bridge Road had burst again.
Stephen admired the mural. 'It's beautiful, isn't it? Don't you wish you could step right through?'
Maria didn't reply. They set off down the road together in silence. After a moment, her eyes began to water from the stench.
