He dashes out from behind a car confronts you, smirks. Then he’s gone. You scowl as he becomes part of a street lamp, a spy beside a hedge, monitoring footsteps.
On his belly in the Queen’s Garden, munching chocolate, he pulls off your shoe. Inside the city’s old fortification He struggles to lift a cannonball until the guard removes him.
He poses as the famous Little Mermaid on her seaside pedestal (she’s in Shanghai, away on loan) In the moat, he better not float with the swans.
Inside the vault of Kronborg Castle, he crouches Hoping to trip the guide. She chokes him with cigarette smoke.
“Are the tapestries rough or smooth?” NO TOUCHING! “Can we walk in the sand on the gallery floor?” IT CAN’T BE MOVED. Pushing buttons on the computer screen beats being inside a museum. (Except for THE STATUES—torsos, missing heads, hands, and noses. COOL)
There are the noses, in a BIG box. These schnozzles fit on some ancient Greek’s face Defiant proboscises’ whose designs finally arrest him. Which one do you think is for Zeus? Zeus, the thunderbolt, eagle, bull, and oak deserves a substantial beak,
