“where sick breaks skin sunflowers will start to grow. An entire garden will force itself from your stomach, billowing out your mouth and you'll start tochoke.”
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The painted people, statuesque, portrayed in an unfair light, not because it doesn't favour them, but it casts the writer in the shadow of her projected perfection. The closer she walks to the people on plinths the closer she gets to catching glimpses of the tired, the angry, the surprisingly interesting bits
