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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