AN INLAND LIGHTHOUSE
Poland at night – a black, taciturn landscape, as if it was photographed with the lid still on. Emptiness after emptiness. Pulsating here and there – HOTEL FOX, DRIVE-IN – the light of which, reflecting in the dark screen, is an inland lighthouse for weary truckers. A bus sways on the bend of the narrow road, and awakens me to an already-read book. Anonymous villages on the other side of the hills, on which the golden age of industry slumbers. Images from the past unite in fine facets like an insect’s eye. An insomnia machine with windows clouded by drunks has thrust me towards Europe’s lowest point.