Cube Tiles


TEXT: The tiles were the colour of heron. They were cold against her face. It had been a long night, and the heat was unbearable. The door was very tall, and she was sure the door key was in the bottom of her bag, somewhere. Each time she moved her head, the world span. The cubes were making her feel ill. She closed her eyes, they were sore. Sleeping on her own doorstep, curled like a cat, waiting for her owner to wake and let her in.

Imperial Hotel Lights


“In London, where Southhampton Row passes Russell Square,  Leo Szilard waited irritably one gray Depression morning for the stoplight to change. A trace of rain had fallen during the night; Tuesday, September 12, 1933, dawned cool, humid and dull. Drizzling rain would begin again in early afternoon. When Szilard told the story later he never mentioned his destination that morning. He may have had none; he often walked to think. In any case another destination intervened. The stoplight changed to green. Szilard stepped off the curb. As he crossed the street time cracked open before him and he saw a way to the future, death into the world and all our woe, the shape of things to come….”

Text and inspiration courtesy of –


Different hotel, same place, wrong time.