Alienation, oh the joy of youth and its burdens. Five young men on the outside looking in, bewildered, angry, fogging the screen as they press their faces, wide eyed, against the window to the world they are trying to make sense of.

“It’s like a film”, says one
“A sad farce”, says another
“It needs a soundtrack”, say four in unison
“With fucking big drums”, says one, holding sticks aloft
They smile, they draw their fingers across the misted glass and scrawl,
GOODLUCK JONATHAN

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