"Put a blanket."
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it
We stand there laughing. The fireworks go off behind him.
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.
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.
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
Thank you, Jack
Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?
And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.