Worse Lift

Pimlico Rats

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13

It's

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.

IWGD

Picture

The only real Londoner remaining is old, bitter, kept around for entertainment, defined by tropes from 30+ years ago. They play gangsters in films, or they work in a pie and mash shop, or they go on Business Insider's YouTube channel to tell you about their crimes. And they somehow still find the time to spend all day hanging about cafes and pubs for you to bump into, to remind you of Real London.

He was cast as the guy who gets picked up and thrown out of the poker game to set the scene before the main characters arrive. Out of Real London and into real London, a discarded prop, at this party, chatting to me.

Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.

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

you know who you are. no more time, not like

1

. way too specific.

confused - is it the tide or its absense? I still like where I was going with it. anyway, real reader know this site is the note.

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!