standing naked, a full-grown man in the lunch queue at primary school. the only one with his food on a paper plate. it can't take the weight. it folds, spilling peas and unloved lumpy mashed potato everywhere.
only days to go before an examination and with a year of work barely approached.
running, running and with each step pushing higher into the air - higher than treetops and rooftops. your town spreads below, segueing into an endless tangle of ruined heavy industry that stretches to the horizon and beyond: broken pipes; twisted girders; giant, silent machines of unknown purpose; leaning, fatally cracked smokestacks; half-drained dockyards littered with collapsed cranes and ships ripped and gutted (the water is a bitter poison); spills and stains of toxic dark materials.
cramming piles of damp cocaine into nostrils that will not admit it. creamy, wet, precious chunks rolling over lip, chin and shirtfront and falling to a filthy floor. shovel it, shovel it. there's no time. they will be here soon. nothing must be wasted.
a voice so loud and so quiet that it can't be heard: insistently whispering right into your ear the single worst word in the world. it is the truth. it is your instruction. please don't ever let it come for real. it would be the end. the voice and the word have always been there. they are older than you and more important than you. they are you.
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