Is it too obvious a question to ask: Why is the sign beige? Perhaps the color in the photo faded out? Menacing looking to me, the black storefront repels; I'd look elsewhere for things of a feminine nature. Other than the "Sale" sign, the pinkest objet I see is a hangman's noose looped over the bar. Dangling almost directly over the hairless, featureless mannequin it looks alive, just waiting to drop around her neck and snap her off her pins. All those little drawers I imagine to be lures to the feminine nature; we cannot resist the siren call of orderliness and might expect to find inside, tiny buttons, pretty hair clips, lipstick mirrors, spools of thread. Instead I imagine miniature ghastlies: barbed rings, studs, chastity locks, muffles, dog collars, piercing needles, staples, mangles, masks, small bones, animal teeth, dried bat wings. Out of sight, waiting patiently, sits Monsieur P. INK like something out of "The Little Shop of Horrors" all tentacles and pointy teeth, smelly and sticky, wheezing and gurgling asking luridly, "See anything you like sweetheart?".
No comments:
Post a Comment