Ever since I did some research to do a Sin City pastiche, elements from that comic book and film stayed with me. Haunting me. Like the smell of pizza on the breath of the taxi man who took 20 goddamn minutes to get me back to my apartment.
I went to get my laundry, and as I walked, the Sin City theme was playing in my head.
Ne-ne-ne neowww ne-ne-neowww!
Nenenenenenenenenene!
I was in a world where all the men are strong, and all the women are beautiful and need either help, love or killing.
Sin City is a noir pastiche, almost a parody. Filled with men who are destined to die a bloody death, living in the underbelly of a city almost alive with sex, saxophone, sirens and dirt. You can't find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.
I am Marv, going all out to avenge Goldie's death. I am Dwight, who would die to protect whatever friends he has left. I am Hartigan, who gets punished for all the good he has done. I am the Salesman - a class act. I am Kevin the psycho-cannibal.
Ne-ne-ne neowww ne-ne-neowww!
Nenenenenenenenenene!
I plut my laundry on the floor of my apartment. I draw the curtains. And I take a nap.
