Ligne 7 gothic



An alarm goes off and you find a seat. It’s all perfectly suspended in a bubble of lightning – you sit down. Your stop is at the end of the line, the bait to your fishing rope of a life. The other seats, mostly deserted, seem like they’d rather be speaking. An alarm goes off. Quite odd, all of this, when you’re the only fish you gut (asphyxiation is much too cruel). You come closer. To wherever.

An alarm goes off.