The lake edge of Geneva is faceless. She doesn’t see it as she drives through, although she knows it is there. Stripes of blank buildings line the town, an upper-case neon sign on each roof. She passes on towards the airport avoiding the glare, that conglomerate of invisibility which has coated the city to make it any city, every city, while behind and away Geneva lurks. She can hear it waiting, chuckling, busy.
…coming soon
Simon Holloway 