"Flying squirrel": This image consists of only squares but appears to be distorted. pic.twitter.com/STRkmOSQmq— Akiyoshi Kitaoka (@AkiyoshiKitaoka) April 21, 2017
Sunday, April 23, 2017
Friday, April 21, 2017
In the night town, it is pitch dark. An endless column of people stand in the road, each row of women followed by a row of men. As one, each of the men pins a little padlock brooch to the side of the waist of the woman in front, quickly and easily. I try to pin mine to your waist but tear your dress a little, and so it fails. It's late. Now the last few from the crowd are dispersing and I'm in an empty car park above the park gates, but I can't find you. There is a steep, grassy hill which will be a shortcut down to the railings and the main gate, where I can almost catch up with the crowd. I edge down the narrow beaten track. But halfway, I think I will lose you completely this way, so I go back up to the car park. I think about taxis, but there aren't any at this hour. It occurs to me that I might contact you by phone. At first I try my smart phone. It has a wonderful but incomprehensible display of clockwork wheels and cogs, and I don't know how to work it. Then I try a tiny phone but it's dead. Walking home from town, out of the corner of my eye, a dark figure flits by on the other side. I make my way to some small, unfamiliar Dublin streets, where I'm not sure if there's anyone around.