Nowhere places all have the same layer of surrender covering them. It seeps beneath the skin and grows inside the residents. Their eyes become lifeless pools of no questions, no answers and flies litter their bodies. I float above that layer, drawn from it by the scratches on my fingertips and the sticky-sweet smell of a stranger’s aftershave. Sometimes the click of coins on metal surfaces pulls me down towards the layer but I always levitate just high enough to lightly skim the surface with my toes.
There are five down but there is still one more to go.
I levitate, listening out for growling stomachs and looking out for yellowing fingernails. We are all in this together but we are not alike. I watch as ants crawl up my legs and as pale boys roll their cigarettes in windy weather. The air smells like tobacco and nicotine-stained dreams of clear thoughts. No filters, no triggers. Five down, one to go.
One to go.
Words and photos by Ivana Rnjak
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