I’d been walking for something between an hour and a day, eating fig cookies and drinking red wine from an aluminum water container. All around the city I’d walked, but I liked it most near the quiet factory where there was a collection of three benches. They looked as if they’d fallen out a poorly packed bag, two facing towards one another and the third off at an awkward angle. That was mine. I sat there for some minutes. I spilled some wine on my grey sweater and it bled, stained my chest. I had to laugh at myself. Clouds covered me. 

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