I didn't know what kind of drink to bring. The beverage shelves went on for miles in both directions. But, lead by the sense that if our feet stay off the footpath it's like they've left the earth itself, there's four litres of ginger beer strapped to my back like breathing gear when shadows splay till they engulf themselves. In the grips of cinder bricks your father's business trips started parties – just slight strips of light which survived the dimming in the garden, but, leant against the wall, felt more connected to the net of nights stretched wide and spiderlike. I have this dream where every route I choose leaving changing rooms leads to spectator seating. I have never been told that I seem distant by anyone who wanted to talk about where we actually were.
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