Travellers in the dark
“We pass each other in the rain providing one another with no more than a glance. Some nights, we don’t even offer that. In our silent marches home we find solace in solitude, cocooned from the world in a wreath of wet, black polymer. Our journeys are measured in dampened footsteps and in the murky puddles we trudge past, and often in; illuminated by the sputtering radiance of a dying street light. You don’t say anything, and neither do I, but we are kin all the same. We are travellers in the dark.“ For those of us who find shelter in our clothes.
















