The Ostrich
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And now that I am back, the room rises up to strangle me. The window beckons and it is already dark outside. I was wrong to return. All the laughter and confidence has been left behind. What am I doing here? A stranger suddenly appearing on the stage, a stranger with no part to play, no lines to read. Majdy points out the graffiti for me, look, 'Black Bastards' on the wall of the mosque, 'Paki go home' on the newsagent's door, do you know what it means, who wrote it? I breed a new fear of not knowing, never knowing who these enemies are. How would I recognize them while they can so easily recognize me. The woman who sells me stamps (she is old, I must respect her age and not think such thoughts), the librarian who could not spell my name while the queue behind me grew (I will be reading her books for free), or the bus driver I angered by not giving him the correct change (it is my fault, I must obey the sign on the door). Which one of them in the secrecy of their heart agrees with what is written on the walls?


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Intangible