A slip-slippery hoodlum races through the streets as stone walls evaporate behind him. Holding in his hand he keeps a goat horn that must never ever fall into the hands of them bastards, the watch-a-call-it freak show men…
…and as the Eye of Equal Opportunity sweeps the sky, the Iris shoves focus into its pores, that goat horn comes into clear view, and a deep raspy voice asks a question that echoes through the eternal corridors of Melancholia, “But where did it come from?”
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