ZERO PARADES/DistrictsBootleg BazaarReading: Open fileReadingOpen fileMy clearanceMy playthroughPreview cardMap⤢+Waypoints1Tempo's OfficeInteriorsExotic Pet ShopYanas SackPossible conversations317'24/7 CAMERA SURVEILLANCE' SPARKS INTENSE DEJA VU, SUDDENLY HOMESICK.Lines1'ACCESO SOLO PERSONAL AUTORIZADO.'Lines1'EMPLOYEES ONLY: DO NOT ENTER'Lines1'LOST: Mimsy. DOES NOT respond to her name.'Lines1'PRECAUCIÓN: West exit pedestrians only.'Lines1'Rest in peace, S.L. Eternal love, the karaoke boys.'Lines1'SAÍDA DE EMERGÊNCIA -- KEEP CLOSED AT ALL TIMES'Lines1'STILL LOST: Mimsy. Tortoiseshell. No questions asked.'Lines1'Toll bridge ahead.'Lines1'Viscera Dreams: Three Nights of Live Rustamian Disembowelment'Lines1'VISITORS. PLEASE USE INTERCOM.'Lines1"... essay regarding the study of dolorimetry on her own body..."Lines1More conversations 305"Fuck off, Tigerpussy."Lines834"Hard to believe, but it seems the gap is widening, even as we speak!"Lines669"Hello again."Lines839"Hello again." The subeditor smiles at you with the left side of her mouth.Lines187"Hello, again."Lines165"Here again."Lines1,077"Hersh."Lines730"How goes it, H?"Lines1,339"I already told you, miss. You can't come through here. Try the other entrance." He waves you off.Lines565"I told you this place is off-limits. It's been targeted by a gang." He shakes his head.Lines83"I'll be off soon so get whatever you need now."Lines567"My agent of fortune returns. Happy Dante."Lines898"NESTORISMO PARA TODOS, CHUCHA!"Lines1"No rack for you! Pay up."Lines117"Please, if you see Karolina. Do let me know."Lines937"The aerial creep is still up there, menina. Creeping."Lines542"Whatever you did to the hogger, he looks proper sad for once." The old pilot tips his drink to you.Lines716"Wolf time!" The children glance at you before turning back to the television.Lines892"Yo, habibti." Goat Eyes flicks his cigarette.Lines824"You should probably find your colleague."Lines832"You still can't go back there. Please just leave it alone."Lines16"You've come back."Lines362A bottle sits in wet surrender among the grime. The label, damp but still holding strong, reads 'Wiśnia Schnapps On-Tour'.Lines15A broken birdcage -- as if crushed or thrown from the window above.Lines1A cartoon wolf adorns the top of a plastic drinking cup.Lines1A chair remains from whoever used to live here.Lines1A click somewhere inside. The world slows.Lines181A cluster of torn blister packs for a gore-slick card game.Lines1A cosmonaut suit, a relic of Project AUTONOMÍA. Its shoulder patch reads, 'The Stars Are Ours, 77'.Lines49A dented tipping bucket, tallying fleeting acts of gratitude.Lines1A film of water, grease and rust gives the machine a scaled quality -- like a creature risen and tamed.Lines1A flash of yellow catches your eye.Lines1A gesture to the idea of 'water safety'.Lines1A great corner to take a piss in.Lines1A jumble of discs from artists you've never heard of.Lines1A line of reflective scarlet catches the light within the box.Lines1A lock like you'd see on a diary -- easily snapped.Lines1A low, tilting shelf marked in heavy block letters: 'DESPISED SUBGENRES'.Lines110A luscious display.Lines1A mass of soft animals.Lines1A mattress behind the music stall. The owner lives here.Lines1A middle-aged woman looks up at you from the water.Lines1A MISSING PERSON poster. So faded that the missing person is missing from it.Lines1A modern word processor, complete with 7-segment display.Lines1A neat panel of buttons and dials. Watched over by dirtied litter.Lines1A not-so-casual lean -- he's guarding what's inside.Lines1A phone line advertising itself with genuine girls.Lines1A portrait has been stencilled over the movie poster.Lines1A residual smell: burned paper, melted plastic.Lines1A row of mismatched clothing on wire hangers.Lines1A ruined sofa with a sad story to tell.Lines36A school uniform once hung here.Lines1A shit wagon.Lines1A shiver through your feet. It seems much higher from this angle.Lines1A shutter door, freed from its hinges. It didn't make it very far.Lines1A sign warning that sale of contraband is punishable by law.Lines1A single leather glove with the middle finger cut out.Lines1A small miracle to have just one tile missing.Lines1A sound like a rabbit's heartbeat escapes from the man's headphones.Lines1A stall recessed into brickwork; wear and scuffs suggest it's been here for years.Lines1A system of complex interlocking mechanisms, crank rusted into place.Lines1A temporary cargo storage shed.Lines1A timetable of flights to and from Ile-de-Söze is tacked in the board's centre.Lines1A tiny, framed print of the Hill of Pigs' skyline -- an attempt at coziness.Lines1A tiny, iridescent crustacean skitters out from under a rock.Lines1A torrential staining of blood.Lines1A tower of back issues, doomed to remain unread.Lines1A tower of different media players welded together.Lines1A user console with a keyboard and monitor.Lines1A view out to sea -- bobbing buoys, phantom ship lights.Lines1A vital signs monitor displays the stats of a frail patient.Lines1A weak AC fan struggles overhead.Lines1A weathered aluminium sign warning against docking here.Lines1Abstract but still humanoid.Lines1Accepted submissions -- original drafts.Lines1Ad for shrimp. Fat, crisp, fried.Lines1Ads for boxing lessons and protein powder, clustered together for safety.Lines1Ahead, the electric hum and rhythmic clatter of an aero-tram station.Lines5Among the many sections of the cabinet you find a small stack of papers. The first page is filled with what looks like a set of printed…Lines67An ad for secondhand pelota equipment, 'Match Tested'.Lines1An assortment of cargo crates sits in waiting, adorned with faint chalk marks and bright yellow labels.Lines73An imbalance in your step -- the platform tilts to the east.Lines1An immovable concrete island.Lines1An old ladder. Caked in dried bird shit.Lines1An open cash register, ransacked.Lines1An unopened beer, cold and inviting, has been left on the table.Lines1As the tide ebbs, more of the sunken statue's face reveals itsef.Lines1AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY.Lines1Bagman gestures wildly on the television screen. This is the ad for the Reality Situation you've seen before.Lines62Behind the advertisement -- a path.Lines1Beyond the toll gate and the bridge lies the Hill of Pigs.Lines1Big circle.Lines1Boats cut through a film of algae and petrol on the water's surface.Lines1Boats pass underneath your feet, worming their way through the secret capillaries of the city.Lines1Bottled water, meal bars, wipes. Supplies for an extended stay.Lines1Brass antiques huddle together, their forms carved by hands long gone.Lines1Can't believe we missed the shrimp party.Lines1Canal water licks the sides; boatless, faintly sulfurous.Lines1Cardboard stacks of magazine back issues -- doomed to soak.Lines1Charms for luck, health, and repeat business.Lines1Chip grease smeared on chins, then sleeves.Lines1Cinema seats, plucked at the root.Lines1Cleverly modified to pick up pirate radio broadcasts.Lines1Clumps of wet hair crowd around the drain.Lines1Cold light filters through windows semi-opaque with dust.Lines1Cold, moistened air raises the hairs on your neck.Lines1Construction materials still in their box, somehow gathering rust.Lines1Darkened, grease-stained glass. Only faint shapes visible beyond.Lines1Detached plugs, powerless.Lines1Dissected and abandoned.Lines1Don't recognise any of these bands. Been gone too long.Lines1Eastward, the city blossoms outward like a fractal, unto the island's edge.Lines1Edges of bootprints are stamped into the sheets.Lines1Empty bottles, an ash tray -- but no liquor. A casual business meeting spot.Lines1Empty cans bounce off the wall, echo. They all miss the target.Lines1Even metal decays eventually.Lines1Ex-Supreme Leader Nestor's face has been plastered over the film poster.Lines1Fare evasion has worn these bars out.Lines1Fig rolls used to cool here.Lines1Floorboards coming for your balance. Don't let them take it.Lines1Flyers detailing horrible communicable diseases.Lines1Fragments of an enraged female voice escape from the receiver.Lines1Fresh. The paint fumes make your head ache.Lines1Fryer grease and desiccated shrimp tails.Lines1Garments drying, from smallest to largest. A family hung in order.Lines1Good spot for eavesdropping.Lines1Good vantage over here.Lines1GOOD, PROLETARIAT VALVE.Lines1Green tea and cannabis, their combined smells like a Ramses signature.Lines1Half-smoked roaches line the creases of the beanbag: an emergency cache.Lines1HANDS STOPPED. NO WAY TO KNOW HOW LONG YOU'VE BEEN STANDING HERE.Lines1He spends his days sitting with his back to his memories.Lines1Heavy scuff marks from a roller chair.Lines1Her eyes follow you around the room, head unturned.Lines1Here's a box for an electric bidet with built-in seat warmer.Lines1High-end medical equipment gathering dust.Lines1High-grade analogue gear, downy cones like immense eardrums.Lines1If everything goes to shit, you can always come hang with the untergäng.Lines1Illegal repeater stations hidden somewhere in the city keep this TV playing Luzian music videos 24/7.Lines1Improvised wiring, machine guts spilling on the floor.Lines1In the dimness beyond the pane, a small, simian face.Lines1Iridescent with petrol contamination.Lines1It took significant force to knock over this chair.Lines1It's chilly up here.Lines1Janitorial supplies would be kept in the basement, not up here.Lines1Kilometres of celluloid, enough to envelope Portofiro in one vast film.Lines1Layers of graffiti, an artistic turf war.Lines1Leaves and trash jumble the gutter -- a decaying bird's nest.Lines1Light glints off shards of broken glass.Lines1Linens on the sofa. Someone's been working nights.Lines1Little plastic cosmonaut figurines, oddly familiar.Lines1Loading platform ahead.Lines1Locked. You're not getting out this way.Lines1Locks on every drawer in the desk.Lines1MAINTAIN CLEANLINESS, RESIST LAZINESS, RESIST CORRUPTION!Lines1Metal on these water pipes is covered in scratches. Means it's likely lead.Lines1More faded notes have fallen behind the console than remain taped to the wall.Lines1More takeout boxes that once held fried shrimp.Lines1Mud-slick, treacherous ground.Lines1Musty damp envelopes, salvaged from the flooded basement.Lines1Odd place for a filing cabinet.Lines1Old pipes, groaning under pressure.Lines1Ominous quantity of tape.Lines1On the note: 'Death Whistle -- leather or rubber for throat surrogate?'Lines1On the verge of collapse, worn away by water.Lines1One misstep and it could all be over.Lines1Out of order. A severed dendrite in the city's nervous systemLines1Patient charts left out in the open.Lines1Pirate reels, with film of two different qualities carefully taped together.Lines1Polaris' silent watchman oversees the shrine from the concrete surface.Lines1Popcorn bags, all covered in the old cinema's logo.Lines1Portofiro's classic Cinema Kosmos, now abandoned and missing a letter.Lines1Poster selections from a fellow admirer of the pleasing geometries of the female form.Lines1Posters for 'GRASSHOPPER IN HELL' and 'IRON PETAL IV'.Lines1Prize items sit high like a makeshift throne.Lines1Production of these speakers ended 30 years ago.Lines1Proofs for the next issue, pinned for review.Lines1PROPAGANDA. THE CONSUMERISM MUST BE THIS WAY.Lines1PSEUDOPOD shifts from foot to foot, glancing at the boatman.Lines246Ramses' disc collection: hours upon days of violent noise, not for the uninitiated.Lines1Refrigerated. The office's supply of coffee?Lines1Remnants from a past equal parts in surveillance and music.Lines1Ripples of electrons scan across the display.Lines1Rust-soldered and gathering mould, these controls no longer seem to do anything.Lines1Rustamian letters, written in a hand so shaky the characters threaten to break apart.Lines1Scalpel. Clamps. Sutures. All meticulously accounted for.Lines1Scattered items beginning to gather dust.Lines1Scribble time: GÄNG 4EVER. SUK YA DAD.Lines1Seeing these binders reminds you of your own red folder in Foto24.Lines1Shadowed waters wrinkle below; an isolated cutout of an abyssal sea.Lines1Sheltering from the elements, while keeping an eye on the boats.Lines1Side by side seating to increase communal spirit.Lines1SMOKED GLASS LENSES; NEVER SHOW THEM YOUR EYES.Lines1Solid acoustics and a tunable chest piece... very expensive stethoscope.Lines1Some kind of rule or interdiction, now effaced with black spray paint.Lines1Someone draped the curtain here as a warning -- the escalator's collapsed.Lines1Someone last used this calendar three months ago.Lines1Someone's given it a beating.Lines1Someone's personal stash.Lines1Something's in there.Lines1Space enough for strangers to eat together in comfortable silence.Lines1Staring at you blind across a gulf of alcohol poisoning.Lines1Sticky papers, messy.Lines1Submechanophobia: the fear of sunken manmade objects.Lines1Survive Your Acquaintance: a series on exotic animal care.Lines1Tadpoles swarm at the water's edge, longing to climb the embankment.Lines1Tagged in marker pen; fast-fading.Lines1Teenagers sulk in the bandstand, idle and irreverent.Lines1That trolley is for future archaeologists.Lines1The air is a sticky haze of fryer grease and sausage steam.Lines1The amount of anti-music this player has endured would have broken a lesser stereo.Lines1The bin is no longer hungry.Lines1The bin should be put out of its misery.Lines1The brightly-coloured refreshments seem even more vivid upon your return.Lines28The building's sleeping breath is visible in the cool air.Lines1The carabinero and his controller are deep in conversation.Lines148The chair looks soft and expensive.Lines1The city's industrial skeleton crooks a finger at you -- come hither.Lines1The container is empty.Lines21The container is still overfull with rubbish.Lines141The corner of a bright candy bag peeks from the box, beckoning.Lines1The desk is as you left it.Lines117The door looms before you once more.Lines193THE DOOR TO THE BASEMENT REFUSES TO DECLARE ITSELF.Lines1The edges of objects peeking out offer intimations of the wasteland beyond.Lines1The Editor-in-Chief's desk is somewhat orderly. A few notebooks and proofs, a terminal, and a collection of pens -- laid out side by side.Lines62The ever-present churn of the printing press echoes off high ceilings.Lines1The face in the murky water -- gaunt, hollow, yours.Lines1The fire door stands between you and the roof. Unfortunately, someone removed the pelota ball that was wedging it open.Lines156The flyer promises 'Steamy Tsunians, Freshly Immigrated.'Lines1The gate stands before you, still locked.Lines36The girl is far too preoccupied fiddling with her fishing wire to pay any attention to you.Lines253The half-skull above a bib of organs makes you shudder.Lines1The hoglets are still grunting merrily among the urban detritus.Lines49The intercom gleams in the daylight, fully exposed.Lines176The ladder beckons.Lines29The latent need to untangle these wires, an itch in the back of your brain.Lines1The letters S and K together in a spray-paint heart.Lines1The light has begun the slow process of burning out.Lines1The man's eyes are closed. He is completely still.Lines631The metal drawer slides out nearly soundlessly, revealing rows of official-looking folders.Lines120The metal has rusted in some places, corroded in others.Lines1The monkey is still hiding in the shadows.Lines507The most popular seats in town.Lines1The name 'Essilk #3' is painted in faded lettering above the arch.Lines1The old dye factory gate, now the entryway to the Bazaar.Lines1The one personal touch in the otherwise sterile, bland clinic, the wall has been decorated with photographs, documents, evidence of Dr.…Lines55The original factory wall, flame-scarred but still standing.Lines1The parking lot's seat of power.Lines1The phosphorous glow of a Lumisol Elite 82. Cartoon figures dart on screen.Lines1The pipe twists out from the concrete like the roots of a plumbing tree.Lines60The planks are well worn.Lines1The press runs hot, so she has to crack a window.Lines1The rubbish Tempo wanted to pretend didn't exist.Lines1The rusted catwalk creaks under every tread.Lines1The screens display source code in a language you can't place.Lines1The shutter is stuck halfway open, gears jammed.Lines1The sign promises fresh fish.Lines1The site of innumerable handjobs, as well as maybe some cushion-fucking.Lines1The smell of ink hangs in the air, with an undertone of sewage.Lines1The strange noise is coming from a printer with a piece of paper stuck between its lips. You recognise the brand name: 'Sonatine'.Lines7The strange noise is coming from here.Lines1The surface of the window bends light oddly.Lines1The symbol of Portofiro's pride.Lines1The vending machine awaits your selection, yet seems utterly indifferent to it.Lines111The vendor won't look at you. He recoils slightly as you step closer.Lines659The wall where Bagman once stared at you is now blank.Lines63The words '66 Wolves' flash across the screen.Lines1Theatre 5. You passed 1-4 on the way up.Lines1There is enough space beyond the railing to walk along the crumbling wall.Lines1There's nothing to do here anymore.Lines83There's nothing to do here.Lines151These babies at max volume would blow the houseboat clear out of the water.Lines1This sign used to have a name on it, before the years smeared it away.Lines1This tuk-tuk has been parked for some time.Lines1Through the cracked drawer, you can see the cabinet is mostly empty.Lines1Tightly-wound rolls of paper, begging to be unravelled.Lines1Tiny creatures peer from plastic capsules, their freedom left to chance.Lines1Tiny diodes scattered across the bedside table's surface, abandoned mid-project.Lines1Trash, washed up here from a thousand miles away.Lines1Under the sagging cardboard, bright foil catches your eye.Lines1Unsubmerged, the door has the forbidden air of something dredged up from abyssal depths.Lines1Upstairs, someone is walking around in heavy shoes.Lines1Waste in humbler houseboats is ejected directly into the canal.Lines1Water gurgles beneath.Lines1Water sloshes quietly against the hull of the boat. The door is closed firm.Lines100Waves lap at the rocky shore.Lines1Weird plastic presence... feels like there's another person in the room...Lines1With awkward reverence, you approach the shrine again.Lines140Womb-grown bullets... perhaps there is such a thing as a perfect animal.Lines1Workers filter out of Essilk's east gate as the Union band tune to a D sharp piano chord.Lines1You approach the children's figurines once again.Lines56You can make out an impression of the Bazaar beyond the window, obscured by dust and grime.Lines41You can make that jump with your eyes closed.Lines1You find yourself staring at the dummy once more.Lines152You flip the shutter lock open from the inside and slip out into Portofiro.Lines1You open the Renotel distribution panel once more. After pressing the ON button, you push the Voskol Auto-Negotiator's cord into the…Lines173You pick up the payphone's handset. A dolphin emblem smiles at you, its eyes wide.Lines222You return to The Animal Zone.Lines28You return to the lone payphone.Lines549You spot a few tiny skeletons within the wall of jumbled cages.Lines1You stand before Tempo's door once more.Lines101You step back to the tower of plushies.Lines61You step into the booth and press the receiver to your ear.Lines128You wake to blurry vision, thudding ears, and a dull ache in your lower spine.Lines175Field notesContributeReport a mistake
