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DISPLACED |
 In the
towering canyons of the cold glass empire a sunburst reflection of the sky glints back in a street kids eye. Buskers and beggars getting strange: the man with lights on his head collects cans; crooked lipstick lady holds court with herself; Air guitarist in an imaginary world a no-chord recording artist in a tuneless void. A blackfoot vagrant just hanging around got his routine, it's perfectly sound on another frequency that can't be found. >> |