 Two steps up into this inner city sanctuary. A guiney fowl spreads its wings and forms the apse of an impromptu open air cathedral. A splash of colour and confidence into the black hole. A shelter from the three eyed lion who threatens to devour those who come too close. And then there is the key of keys, dangling from your paw, luring us closer with the promise of unlocking some unknown desire. I only remember seeing black, overflowing bins gathered in front of you. Our weekly offering? |  There is one and the same queue for birth, death, and marriage. And the line is usually long enough to think about this rather unusual triad. Home Affairs, the dreaded leveller, keeps birthing us into a marriage of unlikely partners, bound together only by our desire to kill that beast called bureaucracy. |
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