Multi-story carparks are the new frontier between civilisation and chaos.
Consider: If one had to write anew the story of Little Red Riding Hood you would no longer have her journeying to her grandmother's house through the forest because a car park at night would suffice far better to represent the jeopardy that innocence has to travel through.
When the new Robin Hood gathers together his merry men they will no longer meet in the Greenwood to steal from the passing rich; for one thing the Sherrif of Nottingham's car travels too fast along the Sherwood Forest Bypass. Robin's band of the socially excluded will live and meet and feast in our Car Parks.
You do not believe me or think I exagerate? Already at night these car parks have become the residences of rough sleepers. Their public toilets flicker under a strange Ultra-Violet light as the authorities vainly attempt to prevent addicts from finding a vein. At any time of the day you will see men in puffa jackets swapping goods from one car boot to another.
This is the new wild wood. It is eleven at night and you have just come out of the cinema. Your footsteps echo as you walk through the car park. You eye uneasily the lads in hoodies on the stairs, and the rough sleeper hunkered down for the night. In another corner a party of drinkers are passing a bottle around while a light flickers above them. Your ears strain to hear if any footsteps are following you. Red Riding Hood you are on your own.