We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river. I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the dim silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank. They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
hiding from the rain
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.
