Distant Land

There were ants in the bathroom. They came crawling out of the gutters and cracks in the walls, probing searching, forming roads along the tiles of  the floor. He  slept wide  into the open day. When he  woke, all frights walked in the  blazing sun  without their clothes.

In the lobby  an islam preacher, white robe and beard, the staff of a pilgrim; 

A guy making humming, whistling  noises  and flipping pencils with his fingers, two in each hand, very quickly, eyes  turned  upward, staring at the ceiling.

Distant land, the clock.

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