The Corner House.
Two hundred years of suburban dilapidation documented on a High Street corner. A centre of stagnation radiating circles of silence, preserved by a fairisle sweater.
Thursday evenings, a red anorak presides obstinate, two feet from the kerb whispering desperate pleas at the passing disaffected. Striding to remain unchanged, a shoulder slung jacket makes haste down the lane to evade his spiralling disquiet.
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