And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.
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.
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.
what do you think my name is
i did until you asked which kind of gave it away
...
its good
i have read not even 1 book