I’m currently holidaying in a place made almost entirely of brown,
hundreds of miles from the sea and swarming with bodies.
One could almost say the city is foetid with the stench of them all
but the stink runs deeper than that.
Somewhere blue and clear,
bereft of people and stimuli,
save for the sea and a thin volume of Camus very much appeals right now.
There is not one world. There are many.
There are not many worlds. There is only one.
I was dallying around.
Meet you there.
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