Boiler Room was last weekend’s confused lover, trying its best to be intimate, but couldn’t do the work to make it so (even though you both really wanted it to).
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My fascination lay in the transformation of something otherwise unremarkable: a pedestrian curve of the wrist turned her hands into blooming lotuses; a careful bend of her fingers turned her hands into birds.
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The clown bridges ordinary people of the world with the world of fantasy.
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