Moving
out of the context, first to go underground and next to. Stepping down, into
the cambiatic interior. My feet touch forty steps, some wet with rain,
drops pooling together and sliding down from the entrance, splitting and
filling cracks of the steps that lay injured. The station is the sewer for
those who want to be removed from the experience and enter a parallel one,
momentarily fresh. Instantaneously, new.
Evacuated
from this time space and teleported to another. The elaborate support
mechanisms which hold these walls up. A forgotten glove hangs over the end of a
handrail, the curved metal loop holding it as it slumps round.
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