In the isometric district, architects dream in parallelograms. Every building rises at precisely 30 degrees, casting shadows that never quite touch the ground the way physics intended.
The residents have adapted. They hang pictures at compensating angles. Their furniture slides toward walls that seem horizontal but aren't. Children play on streets that simultaneously go up and across.
"It's not so bad," says Mayor Rodriguez, gesturing at City Hall from three angles at once. "Once you accept that depth is optional, the rent becomes quite reasonable."