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From the shutter, on a cable, descended…
…Polly. Unsurprisingly.
Completely naked, also unsurprisingly.
Covered with squares of lemonade-colored confetti - yellows and pinks and strawberry-reds - as if she’d been tarred and feathered with gluestick glue and paper. A telltale cone spewing multicolored streamers sticking out into the air from between her buttocks. A papier-mâché snout worn on her nose, around which she grinned, starry-eyed. A disco ball turning a thousand little spotlights on the stretch of cable above her.
All of this, too, was wholly unsurprising.