The faint and weightless oily rainbow I could see through the wall of my silent bubble,is gone.
It is cold, the wind is driving the rain through to my skin and my bare feet are scuffed,grazed and bruised from the concrete. The multi-storey car park looks dirty in the grey twilight.
A damp newspaper blows up against my leg. It’s few remaining pages flutter between up-the-skirt shots of a celebrity blonde,and another war. She’s made a pop song……And this time hundreds of thousands of peole will die. It occurs to me that the two
stories are not necessarily unconnected.