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I don’t believe in premonitions or shit like that.   But okay, yes – what with one thing and another, I seem to have a strange burning sensation following me around in recent weeks.

Culminating in this.   Me standing right here, in the charred remains of Dwayne‘s apartment block  – probably about the same place the arsonist stood as he torched the place.  

Dunno why I came.   My feet just erupted  an undisturbed pile of ash into mini-Iceland volcano clouds, but mostly the police patrol and pre-demolition construction barriers have been ignored by the city’s night-dwellers.   The homeless, the reckless and the curious have still traipsed through the scorched, blackened rubble looking for shelter, souvenirs and answers.   The pyre has been picked over by forensics, survivors – and amateur vultures.  

If this were a film I would, of course, still overturn some random wreckage and find some vital clue to reveal what happened here.   Then I’ll confront a random suspect, pull off the mask, and some scary ol’ fairground owner will tell me he would’ve got away with it too, if it wasn’t for pesky kids like me…

Pft.   Scooby fucking doo.   Hello, real life.   This is just the burnt-out shell of a place I went to a couple of times, and the former abode of a guy who ripped me off and thus may have skipped town either temporarily – or permanently.  

And I’ve got charcoal smudges on my Iphone now, and ash all over my sneakers in the current European style – and no bloody end to the story.


Hang on.  

Fuck – weird timing.  

My phone’s ringing.




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