I spent a bizarre afternoon Monday standing in a cold customs warehouse in Sakaiminato. It felt like I was in the final scene of a bad action film, watching a guy crack open crates to reveal illicit contraband. Cue Chuck Norris, moments after he says to his disposable sidekick, "It's time to check out the warehouse." In this scenario I would've been an uncredited heavy, complete with beard, pastel Italian suit, and lightweight machine gun, who gets off a few rounds before taking a boot to the head.
I saw far too many Golan-Globus movies in my youth.
On the turntable: The Smiths, "Meat is Murder"
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1 comment:
But what happened?? You have me intrigued...
PS. Like the albino sea urchin metaphor.
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