⚠️ Live Document Forever ⚠️
not so on: yvf(wthw)
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.
But seriously, thank you, Jack, for telling me that I could submit this to a high-level literary magazine or creative nonfiction outlet with some minor tweaks. I don't think I will do that.
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. The conversation drifts to the pleasantness of warm lighting and whether anyone needs a smart home. I interrupt her to make a joke about the French Raj as he runs up the causeway. We stand there laughing. The fireworks go off behind him.
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.
it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!
And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.
Mon, 01 Dec 2025 23:38:15
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Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46
i was tempted to lie about my name
idk
isaac newton
a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.have you read
and the fake qualifier
The Hatton geezer (fuck off) is emptying his pockets, searching for the silver rizlas he apparently has. He refuses to take one of mine (also silver) because the tobacco I'm giving him is already too much to ask. He tells me about the guy who can do 50g of Golden Virginia for a good price, the guy who every other man over 50 knows. I'm not interested.
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me
much more tactility
Another Frenchman pushes through the crowd to join him. He's an events organiser who I'd met earlier, and he's holding a large box wrapped in a bin bag. They're the fireworks he'd smuggled in from France the night before. They're Industrial Grade, whatever that means for fireworks.