The Observer - a photo journal

But doctor... I am Pagliacci. | 2009-05-13 |

I’m borrowing a literary device... Rorschach’s journal, May 13th. The banality of the people in this city is palpable. There’s been a sour taste in my mouth for weeks now, I finally know what it is. It’s humanity’s abhorrent nature traveling through the air and depositing itself firmly on my palate. Every time I swallow I can taste it, probably why food taste so terrible these days.

“Was offered Swedish love and French love... but not American love. American love; like Coke in green glass bottles... they don't make it anymore.”

The End

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