Picture this:
Brooklyn, New York, on the walkway beside the East River connecting the piers. It’s a wet afternoon, and there’s not a person in sight… almost. You see one person moseying along in black shorts, donning a green raincoat—hood up—with sunglasses, a cap, and a brown gym bag that’s so drenched it’s nearly black. He stops, whips out his iPhone, and launches into a screed…
This Machine Kills, 405. AI is the Demon God of Capital (ft. Hagen Blix)
My artist best friend, Sylvester Falata
My labour of love, Shared
The route, Home from gym
