Descending in an arc-lit elevator shaft to the basement we set off in pursuit. It's a mad dogs and englishmen noon, blinding and burning us to the pavement.
Passing pedestrians, mirrored and shambling, a strange leathered bicycle-seat jutting out awkwardly toward the flotsam and jetsam of yet another lunchtime journey. We see cut-up shattered frames, endless shards of city life reflections.
But no, she's not be found here.
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