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'Too soon the glint of lightness screams through me, the city lights paler than they're supposed to be, the roads quagmires, as if every motor vehicle in the city mobilised in a pilgrimage to my location, the people rushing by turn wonky and wooden - as scarecrows, or good old straw - until I'm afraid of their smoky, wraith-like deadness, and as I stand on the road I move my tongue along my mouth, checking to see whether the Homer Simpson has dissolved yet. I didn't take it long ago : right after work I puled the alfoil out of the communal work fridge, counted twenty grinning Homers, then took a little taste-test in the locker room. But somethings not right. It's all coming on too soon.' (Introduction)
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Last amended 18 Dec 2017 15:18:47
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