….and it happens as I stand at the fax machine this afternoon, of all the places, musing briefly on the fact that I will be paid and there is something to show for a week seemingly again and again circling round the early morning standing at the bus-stop now festooned with autumn’s spiderwebs. That sense of a split-second time-shift. My shadow steps so briefly, backwards, out of me, and then steps back in again. I reunite, with only a brief ripple around the edges to suggest something was wrong and there’s a brief…jarring. Then the fax completes its task, an old model that like all of its time is a pale off-beige, like it came out of the factory ready-stained with cigarette tar.