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BERNAT KRUGER
fire

Escaping. Down an alley, shins missing black refuse bags slapping their plastic sides. The next corner the hanging stench of past faeces. I don't feel my legs. Muscle going liquid. These sneakers snipping over pavement the paving confined within concrete walls. The walls open into smashing sun; ahead a piazza, a small crowd milling. A man standing close to the crowd wearing slacks and nondescript windbreaker. In his one hand a plastic carrier with what looks like cd's. The one moment he's still there.
The next engulfed

by this instantaneous flash the heat the light
stings the eyes the face, the street disintegrates, wooded detritus, Styrofoam, tufts
of jacket lining. The chaos the bang. I'm forced through the blast site its receding
after glow the scorched reek of semtex. The blast lines
raying outward across cement. Welcome to Haifa