Time takes a cigarette…………Weißt Du, wieviel Uhr es ist? …….. Trooper Pearson blunders home down King Street, pubs to the left of him, Herald to the right and with greedy eyes, gazes at Steve Ray Vaughan’s Strat in Roebuck’s window. In Hayton Great Great Grandad, John Graham (born circa 1796) decides whether he should be a ‘haberdasher’ or a ‘silk-merchant’ as the census officer waits….John Henry Foley Walks the wet streets of Victorian Brampton (Bertha is a biscuit icer.) Foxy is in Erdman Barry is in Haynes… auf die Suche nach der verlorenen Zeit … An unrelenting piece of Joshua Tree cactus jams into my Achilles …an ingenious Rwandan problem solver slices likewise to ease the exhaustion of genocide. Beyond the prurience, the pornography of atrocity peels back to reveal the mind that requests a mock clock to be painted on the station tower at Treblinka…lupins…….a camp….brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation, back to the breeze-block babies of Ramalla and a passive, secular prayer gives way to an urgent imperative - رحمة רַחֲמִים barmherzigkeit έλεος пощада misericordia.