Huge modern housing developments sprang up on the city's northern outskirts - endless rows of multistoreyed tenements as indistinguishable as peas.
And because the buildings all looked alike, so, of course, did the streets.
They grew steadily longer, stretching away to the horizon in dead straight lines and turning the countryside into a disciplined desert.
The lives of the people who inhabited this desert followed a similar pattern: they ran dead straight for as far as the eye could see.
Everything in them was carefully planned and programmed, down to the last move and the last moment of time.
People never seemed to notice that, by saving time, they were losing something else.
No one cared to admit that life was becoming ever poorer, bleaker and more monotonous.
The ones who felt this most keenly were the children, because no one had time for them any more.
But time is life itself, and life resides in the human heart. And the more people saved, the less they had.
SEVEN: THE VISITOR
“I don't know,” Momo said one day. “Seems to me our old friends come here less and less often than they used to.”
“I haven't seen some of them for ages.”
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