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.
plato
is everyoneback on tumblr now
lol yea
...
or never left
its good short few pages
the site i am dreaming
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
barren land
was it worth it
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
we need to be deconstructing our identities
i want to do that too
was it worth it
Dreams like these are highly symbolic and emotionally intense. Here’s a breakdown of common interpretations:
Maybe, Jack, I'm doing this because I'm English?
and the fake qualifier
i really havent
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.
it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!
i hadn't considered this pedagogically or as a kind of personal knowledge management system (puke) at all but i suppose it is both of those things
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.
bro i read nothing in my life
The Hatton geezer (fuck off) reminds me of this old failed actor who I'd met at a party a few years ago, another man out of time and out of place. This actor had scored a minor role in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and never really let go of it, had gone on to build his whole identity around it. I can't really blame him.