Friday, August 21, 2009

Spectral City

Early morning, another city. Traces of humanity drift across anonymous facades. A blind down, a window open.

No-one on the streets. Just the aura of the haunted. Smears of ectoplasm. The scraping of poltergeists.

And a pair of shoes.

"Ghosts crawl over this landscape like termites on a rock."

Emily Perkins, Novel About My Wife, 2008

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