Tracey's jEminE bed story.
They weren't originally there. I wasn't originally there either. And now I'm there and I'm scanning everything with the care of freelance graphics. Faces found. Random names. The perfect whole by gradually projecting slowly disappearing like duplicated memories.
Design something like a market. We are scared. Enter. Everyone is here. We look around the terrain. Around. Darkness and tampon, bushes. Warehouse humidity does not work. Not even earthly things. Not even glass in front of celluloid. The documentary value did not melt within it either.
Witnesses of time.