After hours, he steps into foliated dusk. Breathes in the murmur of his neighbours' evening talk. They fret over shrinking ice, islands melting in their drinks. Half-expecting terrorists to vault their walls and land with expert softness in their gardens. Veiled from himself in the chalky air Hassan moves gently under borrowed trees.
Wires make no sound.
These letters fly faster than the plane that carries you as letters fly in cargo bays below the plane that carries you above, the mail below. In cargo bays below the plane stiff grains of ice are blown above the mail. Below the desert's swallowed. Stiff grains of ice are blown and blue the air. The desert's swallowed by soft mist.