The noirish guitar then danced with a noirish, triste voice, slowly building in its waking resonance so that Christine’s eyelids flickered; at first trifling, then trembling and then finally alerting as the theatre in her mind lowered its curtains; her eyes opening with heavy applause as the ethereal woman canting from the song on her phone sang about uncertainty with such a salient and alleging demureness that it had Christine wanting this affection, to be stripped of the fantasy of her own self.
The Anti-Man - excerpt - ₢2013 -- New Project Started Today
The Anti-Man - excerpt - ₢2013 -- New Project Started Today
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