ISLAND   Boulogne, Xafrenne




The Pace

The joint sits atop Oblivion's elevated linear-park, a line as far as the eye can see.

In wilderness, along with the establishments, the long-ago forgotten.  There's no world left outside.

To the surveillance cameras, appearing in the rose garden, fleetingly on the long-grass underfoot, legs in perfect balance until arms outstretched and holding hands to walk down steps on the decline.

The gate at the entrance just low enough to get a leg-up to open it from the other side, its rusty hinges creaking.

A desperate air.  The view opens up leading to the weatherboarded shell of a building left, plainly in sight ahead of them.  It's a walk through the upturned vessels to the river's edge.

The symmetrical line to the finish, past concrete holes in the gravity dam.  Everything and more left to do before this and the world ends.

They come at night, in its dead moments when there's no one to see.



H Xafrenne 2016