Click this, if not precariuosly balanced on the egde of sanity

“I start at the feet and work my way up. I wrap him as tenderly as a mother swaddling an infant. I marvel at the play of light on the miraculous translucence. Soon, Roy Orbison is entirely wrapped in cling-film. I thank God that I was born to live this minute.

“He is completely wrapped up in cling-film,” I report.”

words fail me

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