Here -
Where...second hand clipped fashion rails spill strong alcohol and stained toxic mist..
Where...branded table top is purpose placed by shaded night light entry..
Where...rules are manufactured and secrets appear down narrow gulleys..
Where...postage stamp death empties rotten wood window..
Where...gum fleeced stolen memory crumbles onto hidden platform..
Where...juiced radio plays out potent messages to scaffolded local trade..
Where...thick skinned beauty skids abruptly into gridded fence..
Where...fake grins act as currency..
Where...simple gestures are challenged and closely debated..
Where...daily trauma functions alongside passing rumour..
Where...slim concrete staircases funnel nervous jealous glances..
Where...starched wrinkled skin sticks to stretched bone..
Where...young people die old..
Where...unopened door fades into peeling brick and small bottled yard..
Where...glum dance patters aggressively on fractured acre..
Where...conversation is loudly returned to late night pavement..
Where...demolished dust is tied to thick leaved tree..
Where...mobile devices are treated as social defence..
Where...blank material shape shadows coached electric street arcade..
Where...mechanical sun grey light bounces off corner block poverty window..
is the place language comes to die.
Documentary Fiction Photography
Steve Coel
