A strange structure grew and curved under a bridge in the Ouseburn, Newcastle one Monday night. What began as a temporary book shelter changed with each book laid, spine out to the street, camouflaging against the red of the brick. It rose up chest height like a breastwork, a trench, a bunker. From the street it nearly disappeared but between the white belly of the books and the rough bridge wall was enough space to shelter.
In the morning it was gone.
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