In a public execution of the first person pronoun, the barbed wire Suspended Sentence is hung inside a steel stentry box. Hooked to high voltage mains power, the text pulsates and stutters in an eclectrified atmosophere, with its heart-like rhythm monitored by a beating red light. Pushing the limits of rules on public safety, Suspended Sentence glows in the bustling city square, shifting in degrees of 'presence' depending on perspective, a sharp retort that ultimately recedes into a singular I-line.