I've been reading "Crash" by J.G Ballard. When I'm finished, I'll watch the film. But the carnage and eroticism of this book has inspired me a little. I'm a big fan of breaking glass bottles. In the city, walking among the bruised concrete structures and green overgrowth, I find glass bottles half buried in the brush and dirt. The bottles make different sounds. Thick glass bottles, sealed by a cap caked with grime and dirt makes a loud POP. Thin, 40 oz. glass bottles make a thin quiet burst when they crash. This act has attracted me in it's appeal. Reminds me of angst and trailer parks. I'll be working on a story about breaking glass bottles in the future.
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