Burying Mei

Stepping off the train, the heat instantly punches like a surreal home-coming, searing away years of rebellious absenteeism. I make my way along the open platform into the roofed area, through the red brick arch into the shabby Victorian interior with its cracked tessellated tile floor, past the ticket office and waiting room, through the cast-iron gate and back out into the sun again: a cruel, oven-hot, bone-dry shimmering presence and memory merges with the present.

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