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Jun 2013
Two-meter corridor framed by encroaching ceiling,
grime-streaked bricks of once-white pillars on the right,
dim-lit concrete floor underfoot, distinctly squelchy,
lathered with a millimeter of mud and sweat.
Stifled night drafts stir, disturbed,
by the threat of insidious humidity.
On the left, faint whisperings of revelry
escape from the tangle of choking throes
of grinding, grey-grilled gates.
Written by
clxrion
757
   Tana Young
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