|Image from materialintangible.blogspot.com|
Unpleasantly dry, no humidity at all. Not the smell of salt air in my nostrils; no, just the stink of Gauteng. Dust, traffic fumes, broken waste pipes, rotting organic products.
A grasping hand clawing for the surface, failing, sinking. Where is there hope, or is there none left at all.
A waking dream or dreaming awake? Is this desperation or imagination? Is this the beginning of the end?