extended reality

You know how words rearrange themselves on your screen when you change the size of the window your're writing in?

In this city, space does the same, according to the scope of your day, the intention in your mind, your mood.

You live at one end of a long long long avenue and plan to visit a friend at the other end, and maybe buy a blue t-shirt inbetween? All the houses will regroup for you into a lovely square, the trees along the avenue forming a shady park in the middle.

But do you feel like the town is kind of plain and without mystery? Streets will curve one into the other, babeltowering over the river, hiding very satisfactory argentinian labyrinths in their simplest layout.

Or does this ever-diminishing earth seem too limited for the ravenous extensions of your desire? The world will extend forever, pre-copernican, flat under your wheels for ever and ever (the limitless kind of guy rarely goes on foot, even here.)
Only thing is, it can be dangerous for the jumpy. Get a fright, a sudden freeze of heart, and space will contract all around you like an overcooked garnment. You were strolling on a open lake-shore when inner darkness falls? You'll find yourself in a rabbit-hole, the firs turned into roots, the water dripping from above.  
But this, actually, happens everywhere.