Celie ambled calmly down a wide street. As they'd strayed further and further away from the mountains, the buildings had gotten taller, more gaunt, and better preserved. There was still a sensation of desolation. Whole buildings appeared to have been emptied, their contents piled haphazardly on the street. Rusted machines of indeterminate purpose scattered the street. It looked as though there had been a fire sale, or perhaps just a fire.
She paused. A woman was comfortably sleeping in a large chair. From the look of her she'd been at it quite a long time; ivy curled over the back of the chair and draped itself in leafy boas and dirt loosely speckled her face. Anyone in a chair so comfortable as to become part of the foliage shouldn't be disturbed, by Celie's medical instinct tugged gently on her collar. She approached, slowly, and stretched out a hand. Suddenly, the chair uprooted itself and scuttled away on spindly metal legs, trailing bits of ivy. It settled back down a few feet away.
Celie caught up with it, and it indignantly rose up again and ducked away crabwise.
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