Why does he keep us? When will we ever be heard? What’s the point of filling these shelves? Packed, prominent but inert. 

We’ve become part of the furniture, when once we were front and centre. The most invested thing in the room, his entire world, his very epicentre.

He used to pour over our gatefolds, stare as we spiralled round, carefully replace us in our sleeves, introduce us to his new...

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