Cannibalism
Cannes stinks. I smell the flesh of garbage, the meat, the sweat. Flowers are dead, long live the stench. But it feels good. Smells means I breathe, I walk, I think. Tonight I roll the streets, the clouds are bugging, it feels like raining and the city lies down as a corpse. Dead icons stamped all over the place, stars threw from the sky and preserved like old memories. Shops, restaurant, entire buildings! Everything here is eaten by the ghosts of the silver screen. Tonight, (…)