A murky, primal electric soundscape; industry roars to be set free.
Blood decanted into ten glasses.
Time drowned in a tin bath.
I am submerged.
As blood runs down Nicola’s arms a baby cries.
She moves to the wall to stick or to read?
A man looks over her shoulder while the other woman continues to read.
The sound is unsettling and I don’t know why.
Something falling Nicola continues to stick.
Back of her shirt is still pristine white, wet washed out bloodstains
Down the back of her white jeans.