I don't know who decided that this refuge for damaged bodies and minds that sits on a plain of asphalt would be best served by being painted the coloured of damaged flesh. I don't even know if there is film or whatever the digital equivalent is, in the rusting cameras that evidently guard it against people with even more damaged minds who might want to steal medicine because they have decided that their existence is a medical condition (surely saving the world a need for PHDs). But I do know that when it is seen under oblique sunshine in spring time it does have a tone that can be felt in the gut rather than the cornea.
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