Laser beams shoot out of the garbage can and Bryan Ferry haunts the curbside, busking with washed up synth stabs and crooning into the night. Videogame Formula 1 lurches meet fried disco shuffles and Madonna's there too cruising in a red convertible, sunglasses, California. Colour shoots through these no-waves here and there, splashing on the side walk; reds and purples, mostly, and gold too in the shape of blinged-out grunge, swelling up out of speakers and crystallizing next to french fries mashed into the ground, scorched earth.
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