Sunday 21 February 2016

Paraphernalia

2

There is a list of nightclubs written on a year old receipt, obscuring the names of the purchases, which are any case written in spanish, total of twenty euro seventy. Further evidence abounds: a few stickers peeled from a crumbling wall, reams of receipts for burgers, various brands of beer, coffee, wi-fi access, many of them signed - although with never quite the same signature.

Two ticket stubs for a film, one for a museum, piles of empty cans, discarded cigarette packets, warrants, parking fines, hospital bills, digging through a bin turns up a document entitling the bearer to check in a single bag of no more than fifteen kilograms on a flight from Dublin international at six-forty-five in the morning, a diary written in once and then thrown away, forensic accountants turn up mysterious endowments from untraceable sources, an original birth certificate thought to have been lost in a fire is produced by interrogators as if by magic along with passports, rubber stamps, proof of being at any given location on any given date - and the paper trail is accelerating to faster than sixty seconds a minute, purchases made three days from now must be explained, in little under a year there is a death certificate of an eighty year old man, signed by himself, lungs forming cancer cells automatically as ashtrays materialise ash, a wave of material that does not yet exist overflows from the offices of every police station in the world and delays the investigation.













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