They let me hang caution tape all over the outside windows of the gallery, essentially putting my work on everyone's mind before they even entered. It was a gallery featuring maybe ten other artists and none of them objected to me taking up almost the entire window.

The book was kept in a wooden box which was buried under dirt the day before hand. Gallery visitors were asked to wear industrial, protective gloves before interacting with the art - for their safety.

Repeating the caution tape inside would link it to the outside display in people's minds.

The book was hand-bound using old leather.

All the pages were ripped to make the journal look "handmade".

The pages were stained with various liquids like coffee and tea.

The whole book smelled like dirt and Worchester sauce, which may have broken the illusion slightly.

All the text was written in a journal format as the narrator entered and navigated the infected town.

As he began to succumb to insanity, the text began to make less and less sense.