You are a passenger…
You stay under glass…
You are driven through the city’s ripped back-sides.
You leave the city’s ripped back-sides on a road which snakes through low, rough, foothills.
Far on the horizon a solitary fin-shaped peak rises into view.
The motor vehicle which carries you pulls into a lay-by, its rubber tires scrunching on the smattering of snow and grit.
You leave the vehicle, stepping out into the cold, frosty morning.
The air is initially painful in your lungs: you expel clouds of warm steam from them like a subdued dragon.
You are no longer under glass…
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