A hotel in New York, the street sounds buffered and muted but always there. A comforting drone, white noise accented by horns and the occasional boom or crash. The messy bed, even when occupied by only one. A luxury when they have to change all the sheets for the next guest anyway. A life made up of hotel nights, a vagabond nomad existence. A world contained in a carry-all.
A tour transforms, much like a hotel, and in the same way it’s very temporary, fleeting. A tour exists on its own, as an entity. Like a hotel, it is a structure. A vehicle for transformation even if the concept itself is stationary, even if the blueprint never changes. It is the background and the atmosphere and the blank canvass for An Experience. The setting and the scenery for What Is About To Happen. The skeleton of The Show. And all the skin and sparkle we hang on it is no more than window-dressing and gauze.
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