Me and my friends from the estate often went to drink wine near the ghetto wall. There were three such places in the area. At Sienna, Złota and Waliców streets. An attempt to connect with history, a strange kind of mysticism or simply fantasy, told us that these were the best places to meet and talk. We touched bricks. The blocks of flats I lived in reminded me of a great giant holding thousands of little people in its insides. We all created a kind of great machine, projecting the past dreams of the land on which our houses grew.