The gallery at MEZZANINE is slap bang in the middle of an industrial estate. I am on the edge looking in, past the rolling metal shutter, at the scene spread out before me. The glossy pink dust cover of a book called La Vie Parisienne is stapled to the wall. The title is in dainty curly cursive and there’s an illustration of a girl caught in a gust of wind — the wind whirls around her blowing blossom petals and leaves, tousling her hair, she holds down her skirt but, oh! The wind has sexily u...
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