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Post-run reveries…

16.50

22.06.18

I recall two magpies

The bushes around Innovation Way are getting more and more overgrown.

I still cannot really….

cry to be honest. With you.

There are kids fishing at the fountain with their dad and I assume dads mate.

A fatherless jogger progresses along Lakeside.

Flies of thunder attracted to the luminous Karimor top.

A feint smell of glue.

Run out across a surrounding field in the hope that I find the answer to something.

X would scramble nervously underneath The Europarc advertising boards facing the A/M180.

Gravel.

The smokers smoke outside the factorious factory. A car driver waves me on.

Trying to find clues in the capitalistic detritus.

The discarded breakfast sign sleeps just off Genesis Way.


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20.04.18

16:25

A dispute about keys to …blip in The Centre of Innovation.

‘Sorry – we’re closed…’

Then the estate agent returns a call at the last moment and grants me the keys.

A serious man of business leaves – no tie.

Undone top button of white shirt.

He drives past in a silver Mercedes.

Birds sing within the trees of innovation.

The office manager says something about reversing his car.


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Europarc 19.04.18
16:25
I’m waiting on Genesis Way in my car.
The sun is blinding my eyes as I recall passive stares from the shirtless fishers by the lake.

A gentle sadness…
The obligatory fountain has stopped.
The Haiths bird food hopper is on repeat.
A perpetual hum of productivity…


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Origin Way. Summer. June. 17.20 hours. Friday evening.

A perpetual backdrop of scowling traffic ebbed and flowed along its A180 tributary.

The latest intake of notional students lolled around on the red sun-baked paving of Origin Way.

Europarc nine to fivers began exiting the site for a weekend of prescribed leisure whilst security guards, process workers and cleaning operatives remained in situ.

X registered a moment of sublimation as a crow hopped from one lamp post to the next.

The lights transformed from dim grey glow to an illuminated orange as the fowl of the air landed upon each pedestal.

A dyed blonde-haired woman in her early thirties drove past.

She lit a post-work cigarette upon exiting Origin Way.

X lurked among the carefully tended shrubbery – it’s gaze gently resting upon an empty glass balancing on a steel bollard.

The fresh-faced students continued to bathe in a collective subconscious haze.


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