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In 100, by Wyatt on November 23, 2019 at 7:13 pm

Brightly colored puns gaff taped to the hallways; silly string mangling hipster chandeliers; tacky wallpaper repapered with shimmering emergency blankets: we sought out and co-created this funhouse of reckless human play but now that we’re breathing its air, what do we say? This Museum of Sleeves (established in a bedroom’s bathroom) celebrates Banksy’s and Houdini’s shirts, at least the arm covering portions, and we walk its absurd hallways with bemused expressions, trading glances. I don’t know how to flirt in a sleeve-filled toilet. If everything is a bit, are you? If we are both in a performance, who am I?

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