New Year, 1 Jan 2010; KL, 1:01am
The haze of the sulphur clouds lie around me. It is thick and chokingly so. Like a bizarre, ghostly hand it groped itself around the streets. Around the people on the streets viewing the fireworks.
The haze of the sulphur clouds lie around me. It is thick and chokingly so. Like a bizarre, ghostly hand it groped itself around the streets. Around the people on the streets viewing the fireworks.
I smell the sulphur and it was like both Vesuvius and Etna erupting in their collective conflagrations. Was this how it was for the people of Pompeii? What crossed their minds as the hot ash went through their systems, immolating them from the insides?
I could smell the sulphur from the fireworks’ aftermath. A haze of vog-like clouds wafted past my face and I wonder, as I batted them aside, if those parading themselves around me know how they look to an onlooker?
There are dancing boys, like the village fair I once attended. Some of them aping their primate counterparts, and some were content to be admired.
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