Years ago at a party in Manhattan. The room was peppered with famous faces. Acne and cold sores buried beneath layers of makeup; sweaty upper lips and chins; cavernous eyes forever staring into the abyss; there's an ominous feeling that comes along with watching the myth of celebrity fracture to reveal the flawed human being behind it. You're watching a demigod die by an arrow from reality. The imperfections are like magnets drawing your attention to them. You spot the deodorant residue on their black t-shirt; you smell the body odor from the pop singer as she pushes by you into the crowd; all of them are like a painting hanging at a slight tilt.
Highlights 9
Highlights 9
Highlights 9
Years ago at a party in Manhattan. The room was peppered with famous faces. Acne and cold sores buried beneath layers of makeup; sweaty upper lips and chins; cavernous eyes forever staring into the abyss; there's an ominous feeling that comes along with watching the myth of celebrity fracture to reveal the flawed human being behind it. You're watching a demigod die by an arrow from reality. The imperfections are like magnets drawing your attention to them. You spot the deodorant residue on their black t-shirt; you smell the body odor from the pop singer as she pushes by you into the crowd; all of them are like a painting hanging at a slight tilt.