One year after the end of the 13th Bak’tun of the Mayan calendar, we surveyed the landscape of Miami, Florida, an American city by the sea, searching for signs of civilization.
We found that their artists had taken to the streets, using decaying edifices as their canvases.
Monuments that once held hundreds of spectators were closed off to the public, their seats in tatters and covered with words and images emblazoned in spray paint.
There were still some signs of life in the flora that grew between the cracks of cement and latched onto the barbed wire fences that surrounded what was once considered private property.
The humans that remained were enjoying the last glimmers of morning sun over the waves crashing into the white sand of what was used to be South Beach.
Water levels were on the rise, leaving little promise for a future visit to this part of the planet. Buildings filled with ghosts and roadways littered with plastic replaced the historic sites of a city that flourished in the middle of the twentieth century.
Civilization had already ended there as far as anyone could tell.
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