Sunday, April 24, 2005

Like most of his countryfolk he flashed steel teeth, and resembled a car's grille when he smiled. He'd treated us to the Brotherhood Of Money restaurant on Gorki Street. In Moscot restaurants the first decor systems noticed, once eyes unbliked beneath overhead flood's glare, were the enormous wallpapered ads. From each of the longrotted leader glowered at his descendants as they chowed. In twelvecolour holograph Big Boy modeled furs, guzzled kvas, smirked at his reflection in freshly waxed Lenin, patted puppoes' heads, spun the wheels of Hungarian sportsters and proffered tubes of holistic nostrums. If his icon was on it, Russians bought it. Stalin sold everything from laser printers to pantyhose.

Extract: Terraplane
by Jack Womack


# posted by remotepush @ 3:07 pm
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