"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
not their contents
i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine
I'm sat out the front of a cafe in Hatton Garden. I've just eaten a brie and bacon panini, and I'm rolling a cigarette. Feeling very London. An old man comes up to me and asks for a roll-up. I oblige.
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
I catch him on his way to the bar, telling him about this old racist failed actor that I'm avoiding. That I'm failing to confront. I get the sense he's avoiding people too. We get our drinks and find a corner. We chat for a bit. He's managing just fine.
My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.
Thank you, Jack, for telling me I'm just as bad as the characters (actually they're people, if that means anything to you) that I'm writing about.
much more tactility
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."Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt
its performative
We look out over the river to a block of luxury flats built on the site of some old docks. It would be nice to live right there. Yes. The conversation drifts to the pleasantness of warm lighting and whether anyone needs a smart home. I interrupt her to make a joke about the French Raj as he runs up the causeway. We stand there laughing. The fireworks go off behind him.
"Put a blanket."