It's raining hard and lights seen from the empty road I'm on, unknown and hidden beyond the scope of headlamps to reveal - darkness all beyond - lure me on with images conjured in my mind: companionship, a blazing fire, laughter and "Come in!".
I would be encompassed, then, by all that I desire.
And here they are, the lights I saw, at a filling station, a solitary youth behind the till reading a magazine amidst the lit displays of fizzy drinks and snacks with sealed-in-freshness from someone's Country Kitchen that's actually a factory on an industrial estate on the edge of Birkhamstead.
There's bunting on the forecourt and it's rattled by the wind - bones on a yard arm - and standing in a pool of light I am a human breath
Inhaling desolation.
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