Over the hill which was dusty and complete lay perfectly nothing.
It stood and it stood with its big cow lips.
Reluctant to say anything in a disappointing display with some of us elderly and expecting entertainment and come all this way I listened for exactly ten minutes, aggressively.
This entire situation had been recommended to me at a party at which she was drunk.
The hill at night was reluctant to purse its dust and listen aggressively to plaintive violoncello.
The spider-lady in the living room was reluctant to sleep with the shortish man but liked the way he spoke.
For exactly ten minutes no one was sure if various members of this post-rock band could be pinned down as anarchists.
So everything stood with its dusty cow lips, disappointed.
Stood and stood like nice white kids from Canada in a cruddy hall full of apparently random images, begging to be taken seriously.