The Country of M


The afternoon is inhaling us. And its chest we fill with our loudmouth of whines and skinny perspirations. In its heart, we are gobbled by patties of bloody meat and a shrine of peso dollar euro meccas. Until we are spent, until we are diving in frigid quick sundaes and we are fat enough to be eaten just like Hansel in the fairy tale. The city breathed us in and from its mouth, we go out restless and dusty.

In a hotel, in the busiest streets, in the suburban area pretending to be a city -- McDonalds can be found
In a hotel, in the busiest streets, in the suburban area pretending to be a city — McDonalds can be found
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