I could see it glistening on the dirty grass of the kerb as I looked from the window. I knew straight away what it was. I wondered how it got there as I walked across to see it closer. This used to be a much more common site.
Spun out reel.
A thin line of shiny brown tape leading to a messy tangle.
A shivering cluster.
On these squiggly lines is a message, a message I can hear just by piecing it back together. It will play, it will make some sort of sense because this isn’t a collection of invisible numbers. This is sound held on by the particles of it’s being.
It’s real.
peter wyeth 