A long line ties everything up.
It winds around the buildings.
Communicating something.
Is anyone inside?
Listening.
Holding hands and waiting?
One line lays on the ground and a young boy off his bike straddles it.
Talking to friends.
It’s an underground line.
Exposed just like the others.
They are hollow.
Like blood vessels.
As if your body were turned inside out
The building pulsating.
The ground, too.
Lines are life.
