＃３４

60L home storage containers full of broken wooden masks; theatre ones, but not well-made, uncannylike. An apartment of disconnected trinkets… babushka dolls, Catalan propaganda flyers, 90s cereal box CD demos. A nobody lived here, someone now eerily present in absentia. The laundry faucet drips onto the edge of a blue mop bucket, and you feel the rain coming on outside. Open the shutters. Let the bad vibes out. Place gives me the fucking heebie jeebies, man.