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.
She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.
it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!
⚠️ Live Document Forever ⚠️
you know who you are. no more time, not like
1
. way too specific.bro i read nothing in my life
...
was it worth it
the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river.