In the fragile immobility of a room, a couple waits as twilight advances, alternately oblivious to and made anxious by presentiments of some brutal destruction being remorselessly rehearsed outside their door. Loosely inspired by an etching by Jean-Honoré Fragonard.
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Mutant robots etching spirals - gotta love it. But did the wire balls truly make it to the top of the stairs?





