...

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

you have a beautiful account btw

I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.

She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.

Rain, starting

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Worse Lift

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.