Xoltz Popov
Uncertain times for our fragile,vagabond hero.
Fear, remorse, suspicion of self and future,
loom day after day with more authority.
The windmills vanish, giving way to the
bleakness of 9 to 5, along its pixelated
sharpness.
In this feature: Years of dodged waves in
a sea of tar.
I hope you enjoy them like artifacts in an
arid game. Useful? Maybe only if they are
able to hang on invisible walls.
