le havre is like a fishbowl. when you press your nose against the curve of the glass and peer out at the rest of the world, everything outside appears bigger, bolder and brighter. the refraction of these images tempt and terrify you, and you never know whether to trust them or not.
the view behind is no better so you shut your eyes to recall details of a life outside and how it was better, but memories are hardly more reliable or fulfilling than a view through curved glass.
the waters are stagnant and tasteless. in time you realize the longer you stay huddled at the bottom of the bowl, the more shit you find yourself accumulating around you.
my vision is growing murkier. i need to leap out of the mouth of this shithole soon and flop around on the other side.