HOLY SMOKE
I am in a shoe shop in Venice.
Why is nobody serving me? I am in a rush! Can’t anybody serve me? I am going to miss my train! And why is the radio so loud? Everybody seems to be glued to the radio
‘. . . gli torre gemelli . . . uno stato d’emergenzia a Nuova York . . .’ What on earth is the radio saying? Can’t make head or tail of all this . . .
Finally I pay for the boots and leave the shoe shop wearing my new boots.
I must have dreamt all this.
Life outside is back to normal. The evening light is golden and pink and tourists are pushing through the narrow alley. I follow an impulse and dive into the church opposite, just for a minute, and I stop and I start thinking. Torre gemelli – surely that means Twin Towers – crollare? – collapse.
the real culprit
groupphoto
hidden agenda
INVASION
PRAYER
HOLY SMOKE
HOLY SMOKE
HOLY SMOKE