Marcus Silcock

After the steady streams of piss running down the streets. After the laundry snapping on the lines. After the pop up shop heaving with 9 euro leather jackets, Daria arrived at the building. Art nouveau sprang from the ceiling. Woodworms were boring holes in the wood beams. There was something under her. The ancient tiles of a long gone city. A woman, layered in blue robes, was slurping coffee at the wooden table.