Rushing and then crashing, the foxes surf the crest of the animal wave. Below them, the trough consists of a throbbing mass of salivating mouths and chattering beaks that snap at the air as if possessed. The faces they belong to remain unseen, and yet they’re not unheard. Louder than waves crashing against prehistoric rocks, they mutilate the ground and everything else in their way, and as they do so, their howls of savage ecstasy are as violent, if not more so, than the anguished cries of the roughest sex I’ve ever known. Eating the night and the remains of human trash littered in their way, they seek her out as if the air in their lungs depends on it. Watching her as the tree lumbers down an alleyway reeking of piss and misspent youth, she flickers like the flame of a candle. What I see of her in this existence is enough to lighten the darkest of my days, and yet her light burns brighter than any sun. If it were not shared across the myriad realms of time and space, but instead focused on one specific point, it would surely blow my mind to kingdom come. Wishing for this very thing, she evaporates one second only to reappear the next, changed yet somehow the same. Amid this fever dream, I’m mildly aware of the branches of the tree crashing through the windows and walls of the buildings either side of me. Breezing through the debris of crushed dust and shattered glass, my grasp of what is real is as vague as it’s ever been, and yet the nature of my design is coming into blossom like the petals in Meeko’s hair.