Sleep through too many final stops in public transport, and eventually you will fade, become one of those invisible people the loons talk to
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It was sixteen years ago, and I still remember the day I woke up on a bus that had kept going instead of turning round after the last stop.
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On your way home in the subway, you zone out, wake up in an origami station where people with unfamiliar clothes and too many fingers enter
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What the loons also see: Monkeys, hanging off handholds, pulling grimaces at passengers. Lesser city gods. All the graffiti ever erased
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