#profundicity
Now, of course, its windows are boarded and sealed shut. Though if you know when to shove, the idea of the door will sometimes give way.
#profundicity
A few streets away, back into the oncecity, there is the memory of a hotel. It used to be somewhere a man of my age might find somewhere to sit down and eat.
#profundicity
I take the package out of my coat and I drop it into the water. The drop isn’t the smoothest I’ve ever managed; the weight is off, and it tumbles, head over heels, before it sinks without a sound.
The job done, I realise I am tired. I haven’t eaten since the evening before, and my stomach is hollow and empty.
#profundicity
This one is a river. The chill extrudes from the water. Like ice under a fingernail.
#profundicity
The borders aren’t always in the city. Most of the safer zones, though, slipped between the moment inside urban spaces. Something about people being there. It didn’t fix in the outskirts, in the suburbs. Fewer dead.
#profundicity
I look back and the sky has slipped into a monochrome phase. The steps are still visible.
#profundicity
The border is cold. Different pieces of it inhabit their own temperature. Like micro-climates. This one is chill, a mist-ridden cold that seeps under clothing and into the skin. It’ll leave a rash.
#profundicity
The sky hasn’t been the same since. It’s the thing you notice first, whether you look up or keep your eyes where they belong, trailing along the ground like a good soldier. It shifts, moves between colour grades like a child’s kaleidoscope. Tonal mosaics, patterns behind the eyes.
