JASUS LALANDII
Jun 16, 2019
3 minutes
BY HUW MORRIS
n the thin a stained curtain teases its hem across my lips. A gust of wind catches the hem and flicks away sleep, out through the window to the busy street below. I am on the floor of a stranger’s lounge. Beside my head is a shoe print on a pizza slice; cigarette ends rise crooked from the cheese and salute the day’s first thought: I think I should probably leave this metropolis.
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