The other day, as I walked past a homeless man, foul and unkempt, I was surprised to hear him say that he “was despairing of the ability of Art to change anything, even its’ own underwear...", and that consequently this situation was eroding his not-unconsiderable faith in Marxism. Holding back an irresistible impulse to thrash and lecture him at cane-point, I gave him .50 euros and told him that this time, instead of getting another wash-water pastis, he should take this money and go see‘um The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, starring that Prince of Players and Jamones, Chris “plummy-tonsils” Plummer.
My cane bearing so close to his nose, the fellow nodded gratefully.
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