Or not. It’s just that we heard a rumour that you’d like to talk. To anyone. To someone. To the universe. To that sole silhouette in the audience, third row from the front. To the one who broke your heart. To the one who mended it. To the barista, because he spelled your name wrong every morning and you never minded but today it’s different because your name is the only thing you are sure about. To the kitten living in your roof. To the bus driver. To the old man who serve you noodles every morning, because he is smiling a little less today. To the young woman in uniform picking up the sweating soda cups and scattered popcorns off the seats of the cinema after your movie; you just really want to know what it’s like watching only the credits day after day, and say thank you. To the person in the mirror.
To us – about DeconRecon, about pop culture, about advertising here, or about that lovely inheritance you just got and how you’d like to give us some so that we can keep the site running.
But it could be just a rumour. In case it’s not, though: [email protected]
