Djago is a city in turmoil. Dark-eyed denizens wander apocalyptic streets,their syncopated steps muffled by clangling machinery and pulsingtechno.

Decades ago, Djago was a thriving worksource for low-paidLabourers; stitchers, pickers, sorters, deliverers all made their meagrewages there. But the profit margins of this industrial heartland wereescalated by an influx of Creatives, who lay claim to the land, markingtheir territory with gaudy paint and snaffling up industrial debris to
furnish informal abodes.

Yet the nature of Djago is flux; where concrete and bitumen yield hard,golden fruits, there can be no stasis. Today, revolution and conflictblossom between the city’s castes; Landlords form an unsteady alliance with Leaseholders, united by a mutual disdain for the hoards of home-thirsty Creatives who blindly tend the fertile pavements.

Ripples odisplacement stalk the streets, sniffing out budgetary vulnerabilities anexiling those responsibleThese are the future relics of Djago’s Creaceous period; documentsor delusions proffered by the Creative caste. Each piece embodies theforceful chaos of emotions which led the Creatives into revolution – anultimately, to their own demise. Seething with deep truths and well-intentioned dishonesties, these missives emerge from the epicentre of theCreative revolt to present problems, solutions, observations,
and omissions.