ZERO PARADES
field manual
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1,293
Beneath the shelves, rails run parallel -- part of a mobile racking system.
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Between the leaves and graffiti, a small etching of a heart.
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Beware, CASCADE. You have seen how easily you can be shelved. As soon as your assignment is over, all bets are off.
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Beyond fogged glass, the bustle of the city.
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Beyond lies a mountainside layered with residential buildings.
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Beyond the toll gate and the bridge lies the Hill of Pigs.
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Big circle.
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Bin collection schedule plastered over with hand-lettered ads.
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Blood-red banners for Supreme Leader Nestor.
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Blooms nurtured by affection and regular pruning.
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Boardgames with pieces set up for three players.
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Boats cut through a film of algae and petrol on the water's surface.
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Boats pass underneath your feet, worming their way through the secret capillaries of the city.
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Bomb wanted to see what was inside.
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Books of photography. Elegant studies of furniture and the male form.
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Both the radio and TV are on, the latter is muted.
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Bottled water, meal bars, wipes. Supplies for an extended stay.
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BOURGEOIS.
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BOURGEOIS.
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BOURGEOIS.
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Boxes have taken over the place of patients in this office.
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Boxes of fried shrimp from a long-closed chain restaurant.
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Brass antiques huddle together, their forms carved by hands long gone.
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Broken pipes, an old pneumatic system.
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Building abandoned, sign vandalised beyond recognition.
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Buildings packed so close you could climb from this window to the one opposite.
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BUILT ON FALSEHOODS, DESTINED TO CRUMBLE.
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Bureaucrat of the month awards, gathering dust.
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Buried. Dead.
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Cabinet doors have been ripped from their hinges.
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Can't believe we missed the shrimp party.
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Canal water licks the sides; boatless, faintly sulfurous.
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Candles laid for the blood of their enemies.
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Cardboard stacks of magazine back issues -- doomed to soak.
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Cargo and supplies left where they fell.
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Cellulose-fat silverfish scatter as you approach.
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Charms for luck, health, and repeat business.
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Cheap aluminium steps collapsed under their own weight.
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Children's clothes, a boy and a girl, drying in the sun.
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Children's clothes, left out to dry -- now wet, again.
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Chip grease smeared on chins, then sleeves.
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Chunky, sticky buttons. Relics of a tactile world filled with pleasant clacks.
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Cigarettes -- the remains of a habit put to rest.
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Cinema seats, plucked at the root.
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Cleverly modified to pick up pirate radio broadcasts.
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Clinks and chuckles echoing. Two shadows toasting to the abyss.
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Clinks, fading quickly. A small life fleeing your alien presence.
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Clothes and bedding becoming one.
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Clumps of wet hair crowd around the drain.
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Cobblestones awash in early morning lights. Vespar hovers by the Fogged Mirror's doors, his cap tilted against the drizzle.
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The script - ZERO PARADES - Page 9 of 26