mánudagur, desember 24, 2007


Hastings, and a teenage boy in an orange shirt is running along the opposite platform with his arm outstretched, palm towards the train. Someone is on her way back to the city. I can seem him clearly as he flashes by under the platform lights. I cannot see her. She must be in my car, her face in one of the other windows, smiling back at him.

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