ABSTRACT
Twelve months after my walk with Mohammed, I was sitting on a tram which ran along Queensway as it stopped briefly outside the HSBC Building. Facing backwards at the rear of the tram, the Lippo Centre was in view through the open window, and I looked at it, remembering our conversation and Mohammed’s love of tall skyscrapers that did not show up properly on 3D maps. In this space and time, however, the Lippo Centre towers appeared somehow different, and an old woman noticed me staring and prodded me to get my attention.
