there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
currently
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.wait what is that
send link
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.
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.
its good
what do you mean
it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!
Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08
way too random but already engaging. i want to explore it