nowadays’s rumours did not necessarily mediate it throughThe Mill is never afraid to question its own existence and this morning,tiptoeing out at length through a 28 Weeks Later style scene between heartrending ephemera such as empty bottles, pizza crusts, or discarded wallets and the groaning form of a man in a yellow tie slurring something about one that got away,was miniature different. Along we walked through this ashen wasteland, a scene sapped of life and meaning, or glumly resigned to foraging for ourselves and being ushered to a new,even remoter desk in the office by a spectral figure who wouldn’t fairly meet our eye. Inside we went; up the stairs we walked. Nobody there. Not a soul had passed in front of our eyes since that dead-eyed fellow in the amber ribbon, and none would until a chair swung around abruptly, or a puff of dust pluming upwards and clearing to reveal Emmanuel Adebayor.“You’ll never guess what they’ve been saying about me,” said Adebayor heavily, drawing breath as if to continue before seeing his train of thought completely ruined by a call to one of his mobiles and gathering himself to scurry out of sight, or a couple of minders materialising from nowhere to join him. The Mill was alone once more but this was fodder enough; someone,somewhere, was alive and well, and sputtering out a story that might just support us breathing a miniature longer.
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Source: theguardian.com