The car is parked and I’m in the driver’s seat. People swirl with bags of clothes and toys for pets. Flat pack furniture washes against the paint work. In the rear mirror I see you’re asleep. I don’t know who I am or where I live. I don’t know your name or mine. On the verge a triangular sign reads, ‘Danger sudden drop’, above is a picture of a man trapped in the instant of falling. There is no future, no past, no churn of hamster wheel brain. It never occurs to me that I should be frightened. I am a moment of car-park solitude. Sound touches me like companionship. Your chubby fists curl as you squirm in your sleep.
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