labyrinth zone...
Something about the texture of everything, the layering and complexity of surface, makes Venice seem outside of time. A city like a book, leather cover distressed and dirty, worn by many hands; antique, like the smell of old paper. Views down alleys are ended by disjointed buildings, crammed in, as though a lasso had been thrown around the city and pulled tight. Occasionally though, the view at the end of a lane is the open ocean.