For the next fifteen minutes Mason drove in and out of the tree-lined avenues, peering over the hedges at the kitchen windows.

  • +..People singing in a tunnel

  • +..Techno

  • +.. Psyche loop


+

+


roar. On his knees, Mason felt the cold brilliant water, seething with animalcula, spurt across his chest and shoulders, slacken and then withdraw, sucked like a gleaming floor into the mouth of the next breaker. His wet suit clinging to him like a drowned animal, Mason stared out across the sea. In the moonlight the white houses advanced into the water like the palazzos of a spectral Venice, mausoleums on the causeways of some island necropolis. Only the church spire was still visible. The water rode in to its high tide, a further twenty yards down the street, the spray carried almost to the Masons’ house.
Ballard, J. G.

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