EPIGRAPH

This here is now. I lean in, I walk the august rocks of passage, tremendous rendezvous of tightened inquests, I descend the staircases of rude basements, navigate between the rusted pipes of belief. And I seat myself down, forever down where it is always now, where a twinned nanosecond blows persistently through the cracks. And the slamming of the shutters never stops, nor the dust-infused air, nor the concussion of glass with cement that goes on pounding and smashing and never breaks.