I have nothing to declare. The remains of London, the beautiful white ruins of America. And now through escalators, electric doors, walkways, hallways and people we rush forward together, our mouths opening round like those of fish, and we try, we clutch and move our hands slowly in the suddenly stale air, to embrace. Behind glass the others applaud. This day, it's bright and with streamers.
Big machines go over our heads.
And bundles up ramps on backs. These men like barrels with beer on their breath. A Rolls at the end of the pier with bankers in grey. How long does it take them to get that look about them, they all have it. While clouds roll like seals at play.