
Madonna underdeveloped, underperforming underwater, untamed . . . deserted North America. There are Post-it notes in each drawer. Either my regime's been changed or else I colluded. My ass is missing. I really don't recall. Between hunger or adoring welter, another interior hunchbacking to another interior. The crucial updates only: There are a series of outstanding waiting lounges into which I'm now departed. A turntable made of only more but ever smaller dreams. Orange slums beyond metal cities. Cities barnacle the empire. No matter which floor, it's [...]