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Bucharest seems a memoir of desires. Yearning to step out of the past while silently staying inside it. Signs of life are sacredly displayed, ornamenting the post-cold-war world and echoing each other. Bucharest offers its phantasmagoria at the fading edge of Europe, step by step loosing colour, reaching a point where decay melts into lustre. In gardens, slices of stale bread comfort the autumn struck trees, stalkers meet ancestral masks while a baby bear feels intimidated by the neons...
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