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Wednesday, 3 April 2013

Image 4

Image 4

Running into light the others the hundreds or 
thousands going after or before; a huddling 
against a breeze into rumbling 
and juddering. There is always a split 
flash of instantaneous porridge-coloured splurge 
or rather there never is a split flash of anything 
there is a chilling draught or an infection of
light or nearly visible currents of heat as air comes 
close to liquifying; unpleasant stinking and vaguely 
erotic whiffs of bodies, sweat and cold 
cloth. She runs ragged and her eyes scanning for 
rest comes stumbling against gravity, a 
drift of crawling blank sight, rubbing softly along
black brick walls, bulging under pressure from 
a million tonnes of violent frustration. 

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