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Fifty Seven


'We decide to travel to the terminal beach on a jet-ski. There are six in our party, and the jet-ski is basically underwater, but it takes us out to sea anyway. The sea is azure blue, and I can see fish beneath me. Other boats pass, as do tanned people balancing on wires. At the beach a house is carved in to the cliff. It's interior matches Burlington Avenue and - inexplicably - there is a window in the kitchen. When I try and look through it someone jumps in front of my line of sight, explaining that these is nothing of interest inside the rocks. I return to the front door to find the beach being quickly submerged by the tide. I call to people but no-one is about. The sky is pink with paper and fire.'

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