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Three girls skip past my cautious tiptoeing between the river of chaotic colour coded chord. My rubber soled boots provide no comfort in this terrain; tributaries of trouble. A land-mine play field for the infant wanderer. Trip, land on open wire fried brain cold thought soup for dinner and body burnt on open fire. Casualty to the sea of exposed wire. No electricity is ingredients for bad moods all round. The hair on my neck subsides as the thought is carried away by butterfly behind my head. A man walks past and mumbles. I put my hands in my pockets and focus at the exit hole. I take the photo – this was not a moment captured. This is here everyday. Pulsating power to the needy. And the needy need these split volts for daily necessities. I feel a power struggle surging from this exit hole between the providers and the dwellers. I like my bread toasted and my tea hot. No electricity is ingredients for bad moods. I carefully walk away from all of this.