He sat among the cobbles and the litter at the river’s edge, consumed by all his problems as the water lapped and folded like some melancholic correlate reflective of the uniform continuance with which he’d spent his days. Swinging back and forth his feet to break the peaks of water and let whitecaps wash away the miles behind him–something of a fantasy consumed in constellations promulgated by its choppy, dark facade–he fell upon inventions of his travel-wearied acumen and comprehended briefly, but with vivid absoluteness, an immediate and fundamental basis for his being there contingent on the instant when an absence took his place. And so it was he justified his presence just by leaving it, and in the current certain things occurred to him as accurate, but in the absence of his breath no method for their ways.

#London #Thames

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