That open lot looks like it’s auditioning to be a basketball court but forgot its hoops.

The concrete stretched out like a forgotten stage, its lines faintly marked by time and use. A small group of workers moved near the brick building at the edge of the lot, their voices carried softly by the breeze. Across the harbor, the city towers reflected sunlight like polished mirrors, standing in contrast to this quiet patch of land. The water shimmered under the afternoon sun, disturbed only by the occasional ferry or speedboat cutting through its surface. I wandered closer to the edge where grass met pavement. The air smelled faintly of salt and warm stone—a scent that seemed to belong to this place as much as its history. A small crane stood idle nearby, a relic of busier days when this space was alive with industry.