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Am I a shadow of my former self, or a form yet to fill the deepest shadows of my prime? Am I dreaming, yet to wake, and break the membrane of perceived sentience?
The following evening George returned to the area, this time disguised as a jogger. Dressed in some old tracksuit bottoms, trainers and a cap, he ran up and down the length of the main road.
I dreamt of The Digbeth Tripe House The building seemed to sigh and creek Beneath the warping Tudor beams And weary men who stand in line The frankest of nourishments they seek