|Angela and me|
|me and my bodyguards|
|we are packed and ready|
she is crossing the bay by steamboatabsorbed in the grey skies and haze.A distant hum of gears grows louderas the sea becomes a city of machinery.She’s backin the industrial realm of Victorian Punkwith its layers of bustles and chainsmiles of cleavage and shady men.
A peculiar place with peopleeven more bizarre.A world she’d call homeif she could only explain.......if she could only explain....