In his dark room he is finally alone ⏎ with spools of suffering set out in ordered rows. ⏎ The only light is red and softly glows, ⏎ as though this were a church and he ⏎ a priest preparing to intone a Mass. ⏎ Belfast. Beirut. Phnom Penh. All flesh is grass. ⏎ ⏎ He has a job to do. Solutions slop in trays ⏎ beneath his hands, which did not tremble then ⏎ though seem to now. Rural England. Home again ⏎ to ordinary pain which simple weather can dispel, ⏎ to fields which don't explode beneath the feet ⏎ of running children in a nightmare heat. ⏎ ⏎ Something is happening. A stranger's features ⏎ faintly start to twist before his eyes, ⏎ a half-formed ghost. He remembers the cries ⏎ of this man's wife, how he sought approval ⏎ without words to do what someone must ⏎ and how the blood stained into foreign dust. ⏎ ⏎ A hundred agonies in black and white ⏎ from which his editor will pick out five or six ⏎ for Sunday's supplement. The reader's eyeballs prick ⏎ with tears between the bath and pre-lunch beers. ⏎ From the aeroplane he stares impassively at where ⏎ he earns his living and they do not care.🏁

In his dark room he is finally alone ⏎ with spools of suffering set out in ordered rows. ⏎ The only light is red and softly glows, ⏎ as though this were a church and he ⏎ a priest preparing to intone a Mass. ⏎ Belfast. Beirut. Phnom Penh. All flesh is grass. ⏎ ⏎ He has a job to do. Solutions slop in trays ⏎ beneath his hands, which did not tremble then ⏎ though seem to now. Rural England. Home again ⏎ to ordinary pain which simple weather can dispel, ⏎ to fields which don't explode beneath the feet ⏎ of running children in a nightmare heat. ⏎ ⏎ Something is happening. A stranger's features ⏎ faintly start to twist before his eyes, ⏎ a half-formed ghost. He remembers the cries ⏎ of this man's wife, how he sought approval ⏎ without words to do what someone must ⏎ and how the blood stained into foreign dust. ⏎ ⏎ A hundred agonies in black and white ⏎ from which his editor will pick out five or six ⏎ for Sunday's supplement. The reader's eyeballs prick ⏎ with tears between the bath and pre-lunch beers. ⏎ From the aeroplane he stares impassively at where ⏎ he earns his living and they do not care.🏁