Middle of the night and klaxons screech. I jump from bed and gather clothes, the fire department often arrives at its leisure. Panicked voices in the corridor drown out the sound of my piss against porcelain. False alarm, hollers a man. Doors slam. I’m awake. I might as well write.
Lovers in swan shaped boats paddle along the canal. The late afternoon sun shimmers on the surface. Hordes of people wander the banks in various states of undress. They walk dogs and hold hands and hurriedly eat ice cream before it drips down the cone. Simple pleasures cure the lives we lead.
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