This place isn't for anything or anyone, only for me. It's my garden, my gallery, my collection of first-class objects, bits and pieces and voices and fragments gathered all about the big wheel.
Madness string 2710
One day I come home from work. Stop by the kitchen to grab a bite. And there he was. In all his Glory. Crazy Italian Guy, sitting by the table. He glanced at me shortly with madness in is eyes and got back to his business. I realise there's a little pile of white powder by his side. 'Ok, so the guy's doing coke. Explains a lot,' I thought, innocently. Oh no, not at all. Crazy Italian Guy was not doing coke. What he was doing was cutting up a newspaper in an obsessive manner until it turned to actual dust. A whole newspaper. In tiny piles. For hours on end.