
For Professor Harry Garuba You are in a lime green, waterproof jacket hooded. Restlessly standing on the pavement— overhead: grey concrete around you: vapour— on a street that resembles the Sunday-vacant ones in Jozi (although, the dream calls the street Lagosian, we tell it we believe it by continuing). It is misty. After you […]
from Brittle Paper https://ift.tt/2QROvvO
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