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The Environment Keeps Happening to Me:

Illustration Zine

The tunnel exists as a non space, transitory, unnoticed in the day, a passageway that transforms in the night, free from reality, free from the law. The morning cleans away the remnants of its true identity. Hovering ‘surveillance’ floats away empty as they began. Walls are crumbling, steeped in green, its ancient bones creaking with every carriage passing above. Nothing pauses within it. No one stops to listen to the chaos it shelters. Everything becomes White Noise.

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