FOR THE CINDY I’LL NEVER REALLY KNOW
An informal answer machine of internal arguments and combustion. Lovers, robots, attention-seekers and cyber-grief plonk the reader back into the lockdown years and the rusty mind-gears hereafter. Images of dyed hair stain the screen and beeps of voyeuristic phone calls drill an annoying buzz; BOTTOM TEXT FOR CINDY is an utter spammer’s disaster.
120 PAGES