Karla

Karla

Karla shuffles newspaper cuttings, old Picture Posts. By Day, the Walworth Road shows you its battered face, and you overhear a conversation: “Life goes by in fast women and slow horses”. You smile at that and there’s your dream from last night: speeding yellow light and sunburn on your arm. Karla stalks the Walworth at night too: dusty corners warmed by sodium lights. A line is drawn that holds two faces of one place together. Karla associates, collects: a countdown, sleeping, tucked up under the railway arches.

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