The aftermath of the war was a quiet disgrace, A feint of victory. Laurel wreath pride Hung over the ruined buildings of the city I lived in, Hastily pasted on crushed cracked walls.
The new flat is getting dirty. I have lived in it. I have friends here. They have lived in it with me. On Wednesdays I clean. It gives me back my pride. I have a system.
“In today’s world, our brains are unable to switch off. Imagine your favourite sweater, but careworn and pilled. Wouldn’t you like to just take the fuzz off?”