The hotel is beautiful, and so is the room. Boobytrapped with fashion magazines, however, and the TV was tuned to The Fashion Channel, a constant parade of skeleton sex zombies (Ray Harryhausen doing softcore) stalking towards the camera in an infinite wardrobe of unwearable art, backed with ambient audiowash. THE FACE magazine confirms that zombies are once again Cool, and informs that Celt-ambient Enya-style is dans la vent somehow. I have sudden visions of zombies eating live flesh in a huge mall to the strains of "Orinoco Flow".
I've had a title with no story sitting in the file since '99 in Australia: "Fuckable Zombie."
fuckable zombie
Warren Ellis on fashion: