Hostile Architecture
As an innovative urban planner, I was great at my job.
I knew just how to spruce up a modern city and keep it looking inviting to citizens and tourists alike. I did so mainly by keeping unsavory people out of sight and mind: namely, our city’s ghastly homeless population.
Each design proposal I drew up for the city council was more ingenious and effective than the last.
Sidewalk benches with armrests jutting through their center to prevent hobos from sleeping on them. Window ledges with spikes along them to stop hobos from begging on them. Heat exhaust grates with rippling metallic surfaces to discourage hobos from huddling there in winter. Sprinklers periodically discharging in parks to interrupt midnight hobo meetups.
“Hostile architecture is the inconspicuous solution to our homeless problem!” I’d proclaim.
The committee loved my designs, and were eager to have them eventually installed. Finally, we could keep those homeless bums from stinking up our pristine city. I didn’t care where they went, as long as it wasn’t nearby.
Satisfied with another approved proposal, I drowsily returned to my penthouse. Throwing myself back onto my luxurious bed, however, I was met with pain. Instead of hitting the soft of my mattress, I felt my back bouncing off what felt like metal bars.
I reached out and stared at the bed in disbelief. There was nothing on my linen, and yet, my fingers touched invisible metal armrests jutting through the mattress.
Thinking I must be hallucinating from tiredness, I went to my couch to sit, only to feel invisible spikes jutting into my bottom. Panicking, I tried to lay down on my carpet, but found the surface somehow invisibly curved so that I couldn’t lay straight. Now desperate, I sought refuge in my kitchen—and shrieked at the sensation of invisible freezing water spraying me from invisible sprinklers.
Everywhere I went in my apartment, I was unable to gain even a small amount of rest. I felt phantom pieces of steel poking into my skin, impossible surface areas bending my spine, icy liquid jarring me awake.
I tried booking into hotels, staying at my parents’ house, admitting myself to a hospital ward. But no matter where I went or what furniture I lay on, the terrible unseen irritants followed. Unable to get even a single night’s rest, my exhaustion grew. In mere weeks, my job was long lost.
I’m on the cusp of death when at last I see my salvation—an old wooden park bench. Unlike other furniture, I don’t feel the curse’s invisible torture here. I stretch out and fall into a restful slumber. For the first time in over a month, I sleep well. I take fleeting comfort knowing there’s a place in this hostile city where I can take shelter…
…until tomorrow, when construction begins on my city architecture proposals.