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February 12, 2014

He had embarked on a series of experiments that comprised in great part his wandering up and down the streets and thoroughfares of the city all the while lugging about in his arms a weight of thirty kilograms. A walk of three minutes became thirty; that of an hour became six. As his notions of time further stretched and distended following each walk, he passed from the regime of human time to one quite other, whose nomenclature still escaped him for the moment. In it, the city opened up in unexpected ways: knots of people-watchers behind the glass of a riverfront restaurant; the flight of a cigarette butt from bridge to river; the existence of a series of waist-high places to rest one’s weight; the clouds creeping above the straightness of certain streets; the accumulation of dust in storefront crannies; a tree sprouting from atop an old entrance for carriages; heraldry adorning lintels; the empty parks. The city did not so much breathe as sputter, an overexerted flaneur minutes from collapse.

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