A small revolution was taking place, so modest and well behaved that
almost no one had noticed. Like a visitor to an abandoned film set, I
stood by the entrance to Chelsea Marina and listened to the morning
traffic in the King's Road, a reassuring medley of car stereos and
ambulance sirens. Beyond the gatehouse were the streets of the
deserted estate, an apocalyptic vision deprived of its soundtrack.
Protest banners sagged from the balconies, and I counted a dozen
overturned cars and at least two burnt-out houses.
-- J.G. Ballard, Millennium People (novel, 2003).