yes
okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate
we can only engage in such a way
December 2025
I imagine that some lab-grown 29-year-old from Woking with a mind honed to identify individuals who fit the profile of Real Londoner (as conceived of by 50 opinion-polled racist builders and their wives in the Midlands) picks a stubborn local who can still somehow afford to live here and passes him along to some creative studio.
you know who you are. no more time, not like
1
. way too specific.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.
...
no i haven't really read anything
god being the centre magnet
Dreams like these are highly symbolic and emotionally intense. Here’s a breakdown of common interpretations:
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'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.
was it worth it
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
yeah
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
so the method has to be autonomous
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
i did until you asked which kind of gave it away