There was a striated reflection

There was a striated reflection across the plane, a single manlike slihouette excised from the pattern. Watch how he just stands like a pillar, an obstruction. Projecting into this flat figure were steel cabinets, the perspectival ends of electric cloud teal fluorescent shoplights in steel housings, the housings obscuring into vapor, transfixed milk. He is standing inches from a sheet of glass. Look how the sun beats his shoulder, his neck in shadow. Move on now! Arise! You have been exorcised, stride on wry lummox! Flaking yet carefully preserved enamel paint, grey flaking only at the line across the ‘neck’ of this opening where an apparent chairrail is struck. The cutout he is looking at now is mist, just as he is you know. He watches so closely the green pallour, doesnt he know he is two dimensional? Millions of moons without anchor, floating, he looks like mist. The cabinet ends flanking acutely down the ‘chest’ are slick, precise, and ruled + horizontal steel blinds which occupy the zone of the frisked plane just above the ‘neck’ completely obscure the ‘face’ of the cutout, the absence, of identity, a composition of inanimacy. How foolish this shade is.

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