We met on Friday. A sharp breeze was following me. Ari was waiting in the biting cold at the end of Columbia Road. A few flimsy chairs, roughly arranged, hinted at the leftovers from last night. Wrapped in winter coats we stayed outside smoking with frozen fingers. Sipping latte, the icy blow was numbing us. Long lashes watery from the frostiness were gazing at me. The soul craves beauty, I thought, it tantalises before it shatters. Ari inhaled quickly as if to suppress a kind of nervousness. Don’t be deluded by an image! My view followed Ari’s to the flow of people crossing borders. The magnet for a community, I said. That’s resisting, Ari said, and flicked the stub into the bleak reality we all shared.
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