not their contents

is this you as well

My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.

i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine

sorry i am texting like a slav

feel you

whats your name?

and the fake qualifier

It Will Get Lighter

or never left

isaac newton

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.

i want to do that too

yeah

Better Lift

your feed looks like my tumblr

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.

that looks like my instagram account

Can I see

and the fake qualifier

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.