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Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank.
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.
there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.
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.
something religious, a kind of complex,
it will get lighter
, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc."I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."
He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.
its performative
in a post. I want to be remembered