Alligator Alcatraz Tour

I get a call from my agent. They want me to cover Alligator Alcatraz.

“Alligator Alcatraz? Is that like a prison for evil animals?” I say, eating an apple. It sounded like the plot of a hit film, a kind of zoo for animals that had committed crimes. And then they escape.

“Its more of a detention centre for immigrants.”

“It’s a concentration camp?”

“Well no, it’s a compound used to hold immigrants located in the Everglades. The idea is that even if you escaped, you’d have to contend with the alligators and pythons that live in the swamps around it.”

“Sounds like a concentration camp to me. Why not Alligator Auschwitz or Snake Sobibor?”

“Will you just go and report on it?” they say. I nod, although as it’s a phone call, they can’t see it. I take a U-turn on the highway just as I’m about to hit the Louisiana border, driving down towards Miami, towards the Big Cypress National Preserve, towards America’s future.

I park my car on a dirt track, the air conditioning in the car working double time. It was so hot and humid in Florida that you could taste yourself, your sweat barely evaporating and creating a human flavoured fog around every individual. I play GTA6 on my Steam Deck, sighing at the NPC dialogue, thinking how when they first started making the game they were aiming for parody, yet now it seemed like a cosier version of the reality of Florida in 2025. I get bored of the game, delete it, then play Balatro 2 for a few minutes. Somebody taps on the car window.

“Can you roll your window down sir?”

“No.”

“Are you refusing to comply with-“

“Its broken, okay.” I say to the cop. Both of his hands are on the grip of the pistol hanging on his belt with a piece of string.

“Sir, step out of the vehicle.” He says. I roll my eyes, open the car door and look at myself in the cop’s mirrored sunglasses.

“What you doing out here?”

“I’m just chilling out. What are you doing out here, were you going to have a wank in the bushes or something?” I say.

“Show me your United States birth certificate.”

“Why would I carry that around? You want to see my swimming certificates too? You going to add me on LinkedIn?” I say, smiling.

“Sir, I’m arresting you on suspicion of being an illegal alien.”

“Haha, okay. Is this a prank? Are you promoting a Men In Black sequel?” I say, looking up and down the dirt track for some teenager with a phone. Instead, there’s just scraggly bushes, with crickets chirping all around us. The cop grabs me and pushes me against the Hyundai.

“What you got in your pockets?”

“Why don’t you find out?” I say. The cop obliges, plunging his hand into my pocket and screams in pain. He pulls his hand out, with the needle of a syringe running beneath a fingernail. As he goes for his radio, I move my hand up, push the plunger on the syringe and inject him with 30mg of heroin. His eyes roll up into his head and he collapses to the floor, I kneel next to him and pat him on the face.

“First time? Try and enjoy it, you fucking pig.” I say, oinking a few times. I look over his limp body and get an idea.

 

Twenty minutes later I am dressed as a cop. I found his motorbike up the track and was now riding it towards Alligator Alcatraz, hitting the vape as I rode towards the old airport. The cop was naked back in the trunk of the Hyundai, with an IV of heroin to keep him docile until I got back. I hadn’t needed to take his underwear, but I wanted to get into character. I was a piece of shit American cop. All I cared about was eating fast food, shooting people in the back and being illiterate. My kids would grow up to hate me, if I didn’t kill them, then myself, first. As I pulled into the parking lot I was playing ‘Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangsta [Explicit]’ by the Geto Boys on my bike stereo. One of the prison guards is already running towards me, flailing his arms in the air.

“What the hell are you listening to? Don’t you know law enforcement are only allowed to listen to Coldplay and Taylor Swift?”

“I forgot man, sorry. Is this Alligator Prison?”

“Yup, welcome my brother. You here for a tour or you bringing someone in?”

I look behind me. There is nobody there.

“I’m just here for a tour, brother.” I say. And with that, he leads me towards Alligator Alcatraz.

We pass a McDonald’s and a Denny’s, freshly built amongst the remnants of the air traffic control tower that used to be here. The floor is littered with dead Miami Blue Butterfly’s, the whole area had been flooded with toxic gas a few weeks previously. My tour guide, Private Hank Hanks, explains to me how building the immigration facility had been dangerous.

“Turns out building a prison with a moat is dangerous if the moat already contains hundreds of alligators.”

“Moat? What’s that?” I say, picking my nose.

“Ah, its European. They used to build castles with a ditch around it, then fill it with alligators.” He explains helpfully. We pass the gift shop, where Governor Ron DeSantis sells t-shirts with ‘Alligator Alcatraz’ on them, as well as severed taxidermy alligator heads, Key Lime cookies and saltwater taffy. The cashier behind the counter has a pet flamingo she keeps in a cage, where visitors are encouraged to feed it with a bag of peanuts you could buy for a dollar.

Past the gift shop are dozens of RVs, where the immigrant workers who had built the facility had lived before being deported to Mexico. Private Hank Hanks laughs as he tells me this, before giving a long monologue about him seeing the President when he visited the facility earlier in the week. I keep laughing and slapping my thigh to encourage him to continue with his witless story as we pass chain-link fences.

“Here it is. Ain’t it beautiful?” says the prison officer. I look round.

“Its just tents?” I say, looking around. It was just tents and chain-link fences. I remember my cover just in time. “Ain’t that genius. Hoo-boy!” I yell. A man barely five feet tall comes running over to us.

“Private, who in the hellin’ heck is that?” he says, pointing his gun at me.

“Easy there, he’s one of us.”

“Yeah. I didn’t graduate high school.” I say. The man is wearing camouflage trousers and a t-shirt with the Punisher logo on it printed on top of a blue and black U.S. flag that says ‘Blue Lives Matter’ along the bottom. He wears a baseball cap that says ‘Fish Fear Me. Women Fear Me.’, and he scrutinises me beneath the shadow of the brim.

“What you doing here?”

“I just thought I’d come take a look before the liberal media come with their helicopters and try and make the tents blow away.” I say, leaning against an RV. I root round in my pockets and find a half-eaten burger, so start to chew on it.

“Don’t worry about that brother, you should be worried about the protestors who are going to try and dig a hole underneath the ‘traz. They gonna try and flood this place with gators.” He says.

“Ah yeah. I hate it when people try and get in the way of what we’re doing here.” I say, winking. The little man nods.

“Exactly. This goddamn country needs martial law. We need to go from town to town, cleanse it of any criminal activity, and rebuild America as it should be. The strongest country this Earth has ever seen, so help me God.”

“Hallelujah. As I was saying at a KKK meeting the other day, we should nuke Los Angeles and those goddamn progressives trying to summon satan.” I say, nodding at the guys. All the guys stand around nodding with their thumbs tucked into their belts.

“Lookie here son, I’m the warden here, Warden Gordon, you lookin’ to transfer over? We could use men like you.” He says.

“Ah, I don’t know about that. I’m already under investigation for bombing a retirement community. The amount of goddamn forms you gotta fill in, I’m like, why can’t ChatGPT do this shit so I can get back on the streets to hunt down commies?” I say. The warden laughs, with Hank Hanks joining in. We start walking towards a cluster of tents.

When we enter one of the tents, there’s more chain-link fences, with as much room as possible filled with bunkbeds. Had they designed this in Prison Architect? There was barely any room to stand. Bare lightbulbs hang around the fabric ceiling, with mosquitos flying around lazily.

“I’m surprised you’ve given these guys beds. If I was in charge they would sleep on a bit of wire that electrocuted them randomly.” I say, spitting.

“Its about optics, son. You remember Guantanamo Bay?”

“Yep.”

“Exactly. We don’t want anyone to remember what we’re doing here cus of the cruelty. Matter of fact, Trump himself stayed the night here, he wanted to prove that this was a humane facility.”

“Wow, Daddy stayed here? I thought it was more like a concentration camp.” I say. The warden laughs.

“We don’t use that word round here. Concentrate. Its because the goddamn liberals at city hall say that concentrating is ableist against prisoners with ADHD. This is more like a containment facility.”

“Like in Ghostbusters?”

“I ain’t seen that.” Hank Hanks says. I shake my head. Its so hot and humid in here I start to feel faint.

"What about JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stone Ocean?" I ask. He blinks.

"Wha-"

“I notice there’s no real walls or bars here. What’s stopping all the inmates from piling against one of these fences, breaking it down, then going from tent to tent, murdering the prison guards with their bare hands.”

“Don’t you worry about that, these fences are made from American steel.”

“And what happens if it floods or there’s a tornado?” I say. The warden spins round with an evil grin on his face.

“What do you think would happen? All the alligators would get caught up in the wind and fly around. We got a storm shelter for our guards, as for the prisoners, well. Let’s just say…they’d be dead.” He says. I give my own evil grin back. This guy didn’t deserve to live, but I couldn’t just wait outside Alligator Alcatraz, follow him home and run him over as he made his way to his front door. No, karma had a funny way of working things out, except for all the times that it didn’t. I could imagine a shiv, covered in shit, made from a broken bit of glass, would find its way into his belly soon, but who knows? Maybe he would actually read the Bible and find out his entire worldview was in opposition to the religion he said he followed.

As I left Alligator Alcatraz, all the prison guards lined up to wave goodbye. They had given me a free t-shirt and a pack of collectible stickers featuring inmates they had illegally rounded up beforehand. I was touched. Even the most hateful person, who had dedicated their lives to cause violence and death against unarmed people, seemed to do it out of genuine care and affection for who they saw as their own kind. It was almost touching, seeing this group of fascists hand over gifts and pat me on the back as I passed by them.

“I guess I better go back to Miami. Thanks for the tour of your detention centre, my brothers in blue. My beloved guardians of justice. My saintly holocaust enablers.” I say, waving at them. I opened the pack of stickers and started slapping them on my bike, then drive back towards the Hyundai.

As I dumped the drugged-out cop naked on the dirt track, I wondered to myself about justice, the law and incarceration. It seemed absolutely cruel and meaningless, that the country had long ago lost its perspective and seemed intent on either killing or locking up the working classes that it had forced into addiction and squalor. The United States had the biggest prison population in the world, where people would be locked up in maximum security penitentiaries to undertake slave labour for decades. The next step was to criminalise all citizens so that they lived in a constant state of fear and paranoia, either ratting each other out for the smallest infraction, or throw themselves into the thresher of ultraviolence should they try and fight back. The ageing elders hoarded all the resources, voted for a clueless child emperor and rotted away in neighbourhoods monitored by privatised security forces, dying in a prison they had built around themselves as they watch Netflix movies and eat microplastics.

None of this needed to happen. None of this would stop happening. And as I drove away there was a whisper on the wind, like God was speaking to me.

“aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.” It seemed to say.

Working For A Living

I walked through the office and nodded at a few people I recognised. The taste of sleep still rested in the cleft of my gums, where the face meets the skull, and the coffee wasn't washing it away. I finally got to a door and went into my office, a lone desk by the window with a computer and chair. A large metal cabinet painted in red was against one of the walls. After turning on my computer I then begin the actual work of pretending.

For a few hours I sit and stare at the screen, doing completely nothing. Sometimes falling in and out of sleep, I could hear the office sounds around me. Telephones, shoes on cheap carpet, the hum of fluorescent lights, the occasional sneeze or cough, the barking of laughter. Now and then people pass my office door although nobody ever comes in. Once it reaches twelve I go for lunch, walking through the office corridors reading printed out spreadsheets, tiny on A4 paper. I stand in the kitchen and make brief conversation with others who happen to be there, before doing a lap of the buildings exterior. Eight hundred feet high, a mirror of the sky. I eat a packet of crisps behind some trees before heading back in. I pause at the end of the corridor. My office door was open. I walked towards it, checking my lapels for grains of salt before entering.
"Hello." I said, walking past two men and sitting back at my desk.
"Hiya. I hope you don't think me rude for asking, but who are you?" said the older of the two. I introduce myself.
"I don't think we've met. Who's your manager?"
"I wouldn't say I have a direct line manager per se." I say, wiggling the mouse to get rid of the screensaver.
"Percy?"
"Per se. As in, as is. I think anyway. You haven't heard that?"
"What is it you do here?"
"Most of my time is taken up by a side project. Excuse me, but I don't think you introduced yourself. Who's your manager?" I say, turning back towards them.
"I'm the head of HR. And I haven't heard from you. So I'm asking you again, who are you?"
"I said who I am. Who's this?" I say, nodding at a young lad in a tight suit.
"I'm Adam, the new social media manager. I'm confused, I thought this was my office?" he said to the head of HR.
"It is. Do you mind stepping out a moment?" he said. Adam leaves. The head of HR and I stare, fantasising about both being killed by and killing each other.
"I don't remember hiring you."
"I started about four months ago. Colin showed me around."
"Colin left four months ago."
"I wondered why I hadn't seen him."
"So what is it you've been doing?"
"I was given some photocopying to do." I say, nodding at a pile of neatly stacked papers.
"Then what? Why didn't you ask someone what to do?"
"No. Why would I?"
"Because you work here! You turn up here on your agreed hours and do whatever is required of you. What's your actual job title?"
"Assistant." I said.
"Come with me please." said the head of HR. I paused, weighing up the situation. Imagining potential endings to various strings of action, some ridiculous, others mundane. I got up and followed the head of HR towards the door before waiting for him to leave and then shutting it behind him. Lunging across the office I grab the edge of my desk and throw it back into the door, putting a large dint in the wood panelling. The head of HR and Adam both begin to rattle the handle of the door before there are murmurs.
"Open the door please." comes a muffled voice. Quickly I open the door of the cabinet and make some adjustments to its contents before closing and locking it. I swallow the key and walk towards the window. It had been painted shut, abandoned cobwebs spread like old ice across the sill. Placing both palms on the glass I begin to push, spreading the weight of my body across wide fingers. Sometimes an old window would just pop out. The head of HR meanwhile had managed to push the door open wide enough to reach a bare arm through it, it was quite odd. I took one of my shoes off and was about to hit the window with it when I felt him grip me around the waist, dragging me down towards the floor. The smell of Joop was overpowering as we wrestled on the carpet, pulling at each others clothes and quietly grunting.

Before long Adam and a security guard had arrived. The head of HR had overpowered me and I had my hands bound behind the back of my office chair.
"You captured him!" said Adam with glee.
"I'd like to let everyone know this is wrongful imprisonment and you should let me go immediately." I said.
"You're under citizens arrest for...posing as an employee at a private company."
"I am an employee though. I've just not done anything for months."
"He's right sir, I'm afraid he hasn't broken any laws technically speaking." said the security guard.
"What about vandalism? He broke that door!" shouted the head of HR.
"I was defending myself against false imprisonment and I failed. There's no need to make me feel bad about it as well."
"Let me untie you." said Adam.
"You'll do no such thing until he explains what's in this cabinet." said the head of HR, armpits damp with sweat that must have brushed cold against his underarms as he slapped the aluminium.
"My personal things are in there."
"It's company policy to allow us at any time to search through your belongings under suspicious circumstances."
"Is it?" said Adam.
"I swallowed the key."
"Darren, do we have any bolt cutters?" said the head of HR.
"I think we might." said the security guard called Darren.
"Fetch them up here will you." he said.

The three of us had been listening to each other breathe for ten minutes before Darren reappeared. Darren glided across the ribbed carpet before resting the teeth of the bolt cutters around the padlock. Although I'd been untied I remained sat in the chair and watched as the broken lock fell to the floor.
"Open it." said the head of HR. Darren nodded and swung open both doors. Inside the cabinet was a wall of soil kept in place with a series of planks that resembled the Slavonic cross. On the inside of the cabinet doors I had made many notes in my beautiful handwriting, along with diagrams. There was a true silence as they looked upon the things. Finally;
"What is it?"
"It is a diagram involving the infinity found inside pi, which in itself is found in all circles, both a positive and a negative infinite. The circle itself occurs in nature repeatedly, from a cell to a star. If seen at the right perspective a cell would eclipse a star. And in all of infinite is all of everything. All of the things possibly said, every molecule of DNA ever coded, every image that could be seen. All." I said, pointing at my notes.
"And the soil?" said the head of HR. I walk forward and pull at the central plank, causing an avalanche of blackness to flood the small office space along with a rotting pig.
"It is a grave." I said, picking up the carcass and looking at it, face to face. The skin had turned a bruised yellow and had begun to harden, shrinking tighter to the bone in some areas and bloating out in others. Worms festered in it's ears. I left the room and begin to walk through the corridors, carrying the pig. People were awed at the foul march as I made my way through every single office, the death stench hanging heavy in the air. Parts of the corpse had begun to fall off or leave big patches of rotten slime across my work clothes. An alarm wailed as I made my way out of a fire exit and across the car park. I carefully placed the thing in the back seat of my car and slowly drove away. In the rear mirror the office fades from view, around a corner, behind a tree. The traffic ahead swallows me into it. Summer is almost here.

Movie Review: Interstellar Overdrive

Space. The final frontier. Space is futuristic, no matter what the context. The eventual penultimate sequel of any series of horror film must end in space. Cheech and Chong went to space, Brian Blessed went to space, Michael Fassbender went to space, the potential future of humanity is seen to be in space. And it is with this sort of nostalgia for the future that the film Interstellar plays upon over the 190 million dollar blockbuster directed by Christopher Nolan out in cinemas...Now!

The film starts with actor Mathew Mahoney working as an uneducated farmer in New York city before catching a zip-line ride into a secret underground base and blasted in a rocket through the universe! The film pays homage to many classics of the sci-fi genre. Flight of the Navigator, The Last Starfighter, Man of Steel and 2001: Abe's Odyssey are just a few of the movies Interstellar 'parodies' for extensive lengths of its 120 minute running time. Mathew Majonnahugh literally weeps throughout the entire film as he battles ice beasts, alien planets and even Father Time himself as he goes on a quest to find the true power of love. I think the swashbuckling nature of the main characters in the film add to its charm. For instance, MacConeys crash lands his spaceship on an alien planet and stands in the water, leaning back slightly so that his six pack really pops in the light thrown from the binary star system overhead. He looks around at the horizon and his mouth slowly drops open, the cigar he was smoking falls to the floor.
"Those aren't mountains." he says, taking off his sunglasses that had reflected the tsunami approaching him to reveal the steely cool gaze of M.M. He runs back to his ship and clambers on top of it. "Here goes nothing." he mutters to himself, as the wave begins to hit him. The entire screen is filled with a wave and suddenly we see the star riding the spaceship like a surfboard. A Hans Zimmer soundtrack of surf guitars and organ music is so loud it literally rips the cinema screen to shreds and blasts the entire audiences heads back simultaneously. Another classy moment is when Mathew McConnaghey is playing bass guitar in his space pod, lazily rolling around and around as he plays a version of 'Space Oddity', letting the CGI hair and beard float around in the zero gravity. Space is shown as not being a glamorous place for super scientists, but a sort of hyper-industrial working class structure in which humans are disposable, which makes it glamorous again.

Nolan does it again with another terrific film that is so contemporary it will be looked back on as being a classic 10's action flick. Maybe you will understand Inception more after getting into the mad mind brain of Nolan. Film critics in the future will often talk about it fondly, just as we look back on Barbarella or Event Horizon. Scanning any nerds film collection one is bound to see either no science fiction or almost be entirely science fiction, because science fiction is the language of the future. You can barely walk anywhere now without seeing a Star Trek quote etched into a boulder or teenagers discussing The Prisoner on street corners as they share electronic cigarettes. By 2019 the world will be entering a time so futuristic it will resemble that of Blade Runner! Interstellar is less about humanity's literal place in the universe than it is a celebration of how much fiction influences civilization, it doesn't pretend to be real for one moment. If you move your head from side to side whilst watching you will see how the entire universe exists on a two dimensional shape. Most of the people in the film are even played by well known actors and actresses. How am I supposed to believe that the head of NASA is a scientist when I know that he is in fact Michael Caine, famous actor? Everyone in the film are stood around in clothes they don't own in a fake room saying things that somebody else thought.

One thing to take away from this film is its technological optimism in the face of democracy. People are dumb is the main message of the film, yet delivered in a audience driven market of Dumb and Dumber To and Nativity 3: Dude Where's My Reindeer it will be interesting to see how this sci-fi blancmange blemishes against the eye, blossoming the blood vessels around the iris like exploding planets around the films eponymous black hole; Megadrive. Regardless I will give the film 8 stars out of 10, go and see it, tell your friends about it, tweet about it. #seenit

Advertising 2.0

You turn on the television. An advert is on. You put the television on mute.
You go on the internet. You see a banner advertising a free ipod if you can shoot three ducks. You ignore it.
You are walking around in a city. You see a perfume advert on the side of a bus. You can't remember what it's for.

Welcome to the modern world. Media has never been so prolific in everything we do. Your fridge can download bread, you can watch films on your trainers and stream music that hasn't been performed directly into your pillow. In theory the advertising revenue from these services should be in the billions, perhaps even the trillions. Yet day by day advertising firms are failing, the men and women who write slogans line the walls of job centres across the country thinking of ways to rebrand themselves. The jingle writers have switched to making dub-rave subtunes. Celebrities offered millions in endorsements quickly falter on their contracts, such as Tiger Woods having sexual intercourse or Brad Pitt having a facelift. The adverts are there but nobody is watching. Some say that advertising as we know it will cease to exist ten years from know. Others have slightly different ideas.

Enter Tukanov Imaging, the brain child of Wanda Bellahyde. Her PR company is just a few years old yet is quickly climbing up as being one of the big hitters in advertising.
"One of our bigger problems came from Mad Men. All of a sudden everyone wanted to be an advertising exec. You'd see all these bright-eyed kids come straight from college willing to do work for free. It fucked up the whole system." she says, drinking from a glass of wine. We are sat in her company headquarters, the London skyline beyond the window is blocked by a slightly larger building. Though at just the right angle you can see through the windows across the road at parts of the cityscape. I ask her what made Tukanov Imaging so successful.
"It's all in the advertising babe. Any five year old can install adblock on his dad's pc, half the people nowadays would rather look at youtube for a funny video than watch a lager advert. It's awful. Well, at least for the other dinosaurs. At Tukanov Imaging we're rebranding branding. We're looking into the future, y'know?" she says, leaning forward slightly. I ask her what that even means.
"Advertising 2.0. Though now I'm saying it out loud I'm wondering why the .0, it's not like there's going to be advertising 2.1 or 2.6 is there? Whatever babe, the point is...well it's people, right? You walk past a restaurant, you see a lot of people inside you think 'Oh, that's a good restaurant.', but it might not be, right? You don't know if the food's good or if the service is nice, you're only going because other people are there. People like conforming. So I'm thinking, what's the biggest window in the world?" she asks me. I think for a minute then say there's probably one in a cathedral somewhere. She shakes her head.
"No. Windows. Y'know, Bill Gates? Those are the biggest windows! And sitting at all those windows are people just like you and me, talking to each other on social media. So what we're offering to users is an interactive advertising opportunity. We pay people to say things for us." she says, leaning back and stretching her arms far apart. I nod in understandment.
"Why spend fifteen million on an advert with Clooney when I can pay one of your friends a dollar to say 'Oh I like this thingy-majig' or 'Hey I just saw the big summer blockbuster it was awesome!'." What she's saying is grounded in hard scientific fact. It has been proven that the number of tweets regarding a film before release is in exact correlation to it's box office success. I ask her if she thinks people would be willing to sell their personalities for such a small price. She laughs loudly.
"You remember that guy in America who had the casino brand tattooed onto his forehead? We organised that. We offered Felix Baumgartner the opportunity to fulfil his lifelong dream of breaking the world sky diving record as long as he would say 'Mmmm, red bull gives me wings.' just before jumping. We brought together Adidas and the United States Army so that every soldier is now required to wear Adidas footwear. Everything is advertising. People are going to be saying it anyway, why shouldn't they get paid for it? And chances are they're going to spend that payment on whatever we're advertising anyway. It's a win-win." she says. I look through the window, then another window and another window, at the London skyline. The sun is setting. I think it a worthy metaphor for something, though I'm not sure for what. I try to speak but for some reason my tongue feels bulbous and disproportioned suddenly. I merely make a sound. She continues anyway.
"We're working on text messaging in the next quarter. After that, who knows, maybe use alternative reality or something. Pay people to say things in real life. Current technology opens up new avenues for potential advertising opportunities as well as new challenges. You speaking my lingo?" I walk over to the window and open it, letting the stale London air enter the room.
"What are you doing?" she remarks incredulously. The wind blows through my hair and at my cheap suit. I turn to her and try to talk again, though all I seem to manage is a strange sort of groaning noise. I run over to her desk and throw her laptop out of the window before running out of the room, clutching at my mouth. I continue groaning as I stand in the lift and walk out through the reception. After walking just a few feet on the pavement I throw back my head and begin to shout.
"I just want to watch a funny advert with a catchphrase that everybody repeats like the one from the compare the market advert or perhaps even the go compare advert. But even those are changing and becoming more ironic, more self aware. Advertising companies know they are just making shit but they think that if they make fun of it it makes it okay! But it is not okay! It is all fucking bullshit and I am sick of it!" I say. By the time I have finished my voice has been reduced to a whisper. I continue walking, thinking about where film posters fit into the advertising landscape. Is a film an advertisement for itself? Are clothes real? Can I rest between the shelves of a supermarket, dreaming of my softs, fearing nothing?