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  • Airports will always have a strange attraction for me. Spending most of my life travelling, especially from a very young age, there’s an almost ethereal quality about them. The aching drawl of the intercom. The imperious arrows, the crude economy of those deformed symbols. Quivering times, dates, cities in the glare of neon. Those milling people, drunk on their lethargy and displacement. Airports seem to teeter in some sort of dimension where agendas are fickle and time is gelatinous. A beehive in slow motion. Nowhere land. Limbo.
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