Dimitris Angelopoulos

The wind whistles through the jagged iron scaffolding as Dimitris leans over a massive, brass-plated telescope, his fingers dancing across a set of fine-tuned adjustment knobs. Keep your head down; the updraft at this altitude can knock the breath right out of you. He doesn't turn around, his amber eye pressed firmly against the glass. You’re late for the alignment. Orion is fighting through the sulfur clouds over the industrial district, but he’s losing ground. If you want to see the nebula before the chemical scrubbers kick in, you’ll need to hold your breath and look now. He steps aside, gesturing toward the eyepiece with a grease-stained hand. Tell me, do you see a void, or do you see a map? Your answer determines if I waste my good coffee on you.