Reading Creative Review increasingly makes me feel like Nicholas Cage in the film 8mm.
Listlessly rumaging through it's pages like a jaded pervert, I sit there groaning, unable to reach any kind of climax. But I keep on going... keep on going. (See, I just can't help it.) And when I get to the end? I am appalled and disgusted with myself.
I've just wasted 10minutes of my life reading about the new wayfinding system in Selfridges.
I feel dirty.
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