Lights exploding the window into colourful prisms, like a caleidoscope of an already distorted view. And then they are gone, with the scream of an accerating engine, calmness and then they re-appear as the next car drive through the toll. But inbetween, when the dark night closes, the other booths, like little lanterns on the motorway, glow with a flourescent light, inside a shadow of a life. Neatly in a row, they never fly off with a prayer, with a dream of a better life, they never get caught in the wind. They stay, holding the prayers firmly on the asphalt.
3 Comments
2/22/2015 03:02:28 am
Dear Veronika,
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Veronika Borzymowski
2/22/2015 09:44:34 pm
Dear Rochelle, thanks for the feedback. I was aiming for a portrait of loneliness (albeit short) and used the tollbooths as a means to do that. Thanks also for the correction
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