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TROUT [ 2 ] |
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Hong Kong, 1997 Running fast then standing still, speeding�motionless. It is always the same, always this question of permanence. In vertical brilliance, lighting its neon life, the city of banks. Milk heavy air, an evening of steep-sided expectation. A child, (the same age as you, Joseph), her mouth full of yellow yolk, explains the harbour to her mother. Pointing out ferries, junks, blackened barges. Above the Peak something passes at great speed, a winking machine departing the city. Vertigo tourists above the roaring passage.
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