and millions of others have exactly the same memories
i discuss this in detail in The Last Resort
Unreal City. Magnetic City. Pandemonium.
Why is your name scratched into the paint?
And why do these streets seem to recognise you?
The man hanging from the first floor window to smoke a cigarette nods as you meet his eye and even the cat sprawled on the warm doorstep looks up in acknowledgement as you pass.
When did we come here not in waking, no,
not in waking life. When did we intrude on our own future? Breathing lead in the
heavy air, all of us. As children, on the rubbish tips, in the crumpled metal, in the broken toys, all of us, holding the doll with missing eyes.