lime street, midnight

seagulls hover in some draft above the roof of the station, like lonely shreds of white confetti.

I start tallying. in the end it will come to a total of six aircraft, eight busses, and fourteen different trains (not counting the underground ones).

taxis line the road, all lit with sleepy, patient monotony. a few of the drivers stand, smoking, grumbling, yawning, off to the side.

here was the beginning. and the beginning of the end.