Suddenly they were aware of sounds their earbuds, earrings, and ear-surrounds had protected them from: car engines, emergency sirens, truck airbrakes, the rustles and shuffles that indicated the existence of other people. The awareness became torture.
They ate half of the smoked flesh right there out on the lawn, taking turns, only ever eating slices of the other. They both agreed there was something too bloodlessly sickening about eating the self.
Howdy everyone! Some exciting news: I’m doing a stint at The Nation this month writing biweekly design columns. In this first one, I’ve done my best to expand on an earlier McMansion Hell post in order to answer the defining question of our time: why the hell is everything greige now?
“[…] this is a shame, as aesthetic eccentricity is one of the only things that make wealthy people even remotely interesting.” you are the most correct person on earth actually
