Lift Analysis
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
The old failed actor genuinely believed this girl was of a lesser race. He believed she shouldn't be talking with me, shouldn't be here at this party, shouldn't be here in this country. He wanted a white England. I didn't really challenge him on it. Sometimes I justify it with thoughts like I was drunk, or baffled, or it isn't an argument I'll win, or he can't hear me anyway, or whatever. I didn't argue with him. I just cut off his rant and left with a pathetic "In a bit."
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.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
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.
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."