paper shots 2 - 49

An old one had been resurrected. A bus, that is. And it bumped along, and the windows all shook in sync at every pothole on the roads. By the park, it almost tipped over while swerving around a bend. Most windows shook because they couldn’t close anymore – and the night was cold, so you could see little pieces of paper, folded many times over, sticking out here and there between the windows and their broken clasps. It looked like the bus was all decked out for the imminent holiday season. A bank statement: a withdrawal from two days before; a receipt: bread, 150 grams of ham, 3 bottl…

One piece fell, and it was of a different nature altogether. Some lines of Dante’s Divine Comedy, from a night of (reading? poetry?) It had rained and the illegible part had been out of the window, braving the elements. It was Hell.


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