i really havent
bro i read nothing in my life
we need to be deconstructing our identities
what do you think my name is
My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.
feel you
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.
ahnaf abrar
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
Actual born-Londoners aren't LARPing like this, they sold their shite family home for a million pounds and moved to Malaga years ago. They have their culture and they've taken it elsewhere.
hello reader,
so at the end
yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf
but really the thing should be autonomous
i was tempted to lie about my name
not so on: yvf(wthw)
He was a proper old-fashioned London geezer (cringe word, hate it, can't think of a better one, worst of all it's the correct word), kind of East Endy, kind of Real London, the kind you don't really meet but if you do it always feels like an uncanny immersive theatre experience. They're anachronistic. They only belong in the London collectively imagined by people who don't spend any time in it.
there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
Thank you, Jack