Tagged Orson Welles

Kitsch-Value

The horses sleep in luxury stalls. We roll past subdivided mansions and loud domestic cars while a man in a nightshirt whispers “dope” to the swaying foam of his plastic cup. Gaslights flick and buzz. On the reddish frieze, the boxer’s cracked coconut face leaks. Me neat, you rocks, we skim a flotsam of bow…