Unearthing
I’d not go out there now if I were you – not unless you have a taste for fire falling in flakes, for clouds of dust that leave an acrid chalky residue on wigs and epaulettes. If I were you I’d be inclined to stay inside at least until the ground had ceased to shake, the roads to crack – unearthing bad things we buried not that long ago. We’ve all been out enough by now to know it’s not the best of times to feign disinterest now the pillars of the temple are askew, now slates are flying, bridges burning and the big cats have bust out of the zoo.