LAST CALL FOR PAASSENGERS TRAVELLING TO CAIRO I’m back at Heathrow. I’ve just finished a bottle of water. The container is thin and blue and empty. It feels odd, like holding a bird or a cloud. Or maybe it just feels frustratingly pointless because it’s empty and I’m so tired, tired from flying overnight, landing in London at midnight, taking the Underground into central London at two o’clock in the morning, walking through Hyde Park at 3 AM, up Piccadilly and down Bond Street and past De Beers at 4 AM, past Nelson’s Column at 4:30 AM and into Ames Park to fall down on the dew wet grass at 5AM and sleep among the geese. I move into the sun when it is high enough. It warms my back, and my head rests on my
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