12

between the squalor and filth, the beer cans, used tissues, half eaten food, the crusty crumbs in the couch with peeling vinyl flaking like dandruff into the carpet covered in piss yellow stains and purple splotches of wine like a bruise. between it all if you squint your eyes, looking not at any thing in particular you might see it shimmer like a lake in sunlight, for an instant you might glimpse something deep beneath. no mere reflection on the surface or shadow of the thing but the truth at the bottom. some other realm where time is different and fairy queens hold court and goblins lurk in the shadow, where the orange man sleeps under the bridge...