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Seeing through the Ground
The white sun melts into the smog. The light drips, working its way down to my subterranean eyes that lie deep under the city and gaze upward, seeing the place from below: streets, foundations— like aerial views of a wartime city, but the reverse—a mole’s photograph: silent rectangles in muted colors. Where decisions are made. The bones of the dead can’t be told from those of the living. The sunlight intensifies and spreads, flooding into aircraft cabins and peapods. Translated from the Swedish