Art I'm pissed off. I've got a strong cold, so I can't go out tonight. It's the afternoon, and I'm sitting in tent in the middle of a concert hall. There are five others in here, all with different looks of nausia. Outside, unseen but heard, a man with a strange accent is talking about Aristotle and other fiends. He tells us he's going to play us a tape of hot water coming out of a tap into a pan. He plays the tape. It's loud and it makes me want to go to the toilet. I'm in hell.

No comments:

Post a comment