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Our perplexed masked man, whose apparent gender and identity remains in flux throughout, endures the final presentation of the project to the traditional bouquet of flowers from the curators to the project organizer. Igor wanders through the ensuing inbred rites and rituals of arty-farty parties: the usual suspects tinking champagne glasses inhaling the free catering conversing only aggravates him further.
Excuse me. I am looking for Stromboli. Where is Stromboli? I am going crazy! |