monday evening
One of the streetlamps along the path i take home every day has been flickering on and off with a disturbing regularity, as though it has been especially designed to do that. It claims the distinction that it is one of the few lamps on the street which is actually working at all, and so a flicker is better than nothing. It provides the effect on bypassers that they are walking in some stop-motion world, intermittent glimpses at a film, or a cartoon book where the pages are being turned so rapidly that it looks as though people are moving.
I pause for a moment by it and see that the streets are where they were, as they were. The melée inside me is greeted by a lack of the extraordinary, a routine day in Singapore playing out like any other with the rumble of car engines interrupting the low buzz of far-heard chatter.
I blinked, and the streets evolves itself in a cartographic chaos behind my eyes.
I pause for a moment by it and see that the streets are where they were, as they were. The melée inside me is greeted by a lack of the extraordinary, a routine day in Singapore playing out like any other with the rumble of car engines interrupting the low buzz of far-heard chatter.
I blinked, and the streets evolves itself in a cartographic chaos behind my eyes.
