The Distant Machine
October 14, 1912 The vibration is not a sound, strictly speaking, but a pressure that sits behind my left eye and pulses in time with the traffic on Whitechapel Road, a rhythmic throb that has become so constant I no longer notice it until I stop moving. I am sitting at my desk in the station, the paper before me blank, my pen hovering over the surface, trying to capture the precise nature of...
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