Resurfacing

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The Road is closed.
When I pass through the barriers, an invisible pressure washes over me.
The sounds change.
The tide of traffic diminishes.
Organic gurgling neath the flatbed of a stationary lorry.
The hum and growl and roar the machines.
Construction.
Yellow and orange.
The son of Mechagodzilla spewing black, putrid tar.
Beeps of reversal.
Then… to fade…
‘HIGHWAY MAINTENANCE’
Reversal of the tide…
Back to my world.

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