PIRENESE’S PRISON PULLEYS

I lever up by the cable pulleys a rope over wheels to bring up bucket. It is on a steep hillside incline. There is catalogue paper in the black box.

In hotel lobby, I inquire how the three younger children are doing.

There is a toothbrush in my mouth.

I am reminded of Pierenese’s prison etching series, of staircases going nowhere.

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