[Jillian Green doors everywhere.]It happens a couple times a week and it's things as specific as basking in dappled aprication (the best way one can, I think) in some NUI garden in Galway, with the smell of it and every blade of grass making its way through my dress to my skin. It's as tangential as incorporating a street into another cityscape. It's been a room in a Cardiff of my imagination.
Tonight, it's my wish that my self-conscious will allow me to curl up in a vast and obsolete cement ear.
