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The street is the colour of weak tea. Nothing has moved yet except the mist on the lawns, which lies in low, flat sheets and has...
The first light comes in low and flat across a gravel verge in the Mid West, and the dew has not yet lifted off anything. Two...
The line is already pegged when the first light reaches the back fence. Flat white squares of cotton hang in a row, with one pale muslin...
The arrivals hall smells of coffee and floor polish, and the woman at the hire counter is already sliding a tablet across the desk. The traveller...
