![]() ![]() I drive onwards towards some distant citadel of my interior infantile memories. I’m now a grown man trying to recall a nurturing closeness before leaving. There is some narrative that I was supposed to remember from days I tendered now as lost. The sun beats down and dry grit from the billowing sand sticks between my teeth. ![]() I can faintly make out the scant apparition of buildings, smokestacks, and telephone wires. ![]() There are little dots on my horizon that lazily melt into some sort of mirage. ”My hovel, the rat hole warren three streets wide and six feet deep in uncertainty entertains nothing but awkward tunnels and spaces along the roads-elaborate gutters for which bodies should be left.”.įrom the side of the highway, it looks expansive. ![]()
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