was it worth it
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.
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.
Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.
I'm getting bored and he can tell, so he shifts the topic towards me. He tells me he'd spotted me chatting to a girl earlier, a black girl, and asks what I thought of her, if I liked her. I mimed affirmatively.
Thank you, Jack, for telling me I'm just as bad as the characters (actually they're people, if that means anything to you) that I'm writing about.
not so on: yvf(wthw)
and the fake qualifier
no like which do people call me
or never left
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
Thank you, Jack
plato
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.
i hope ai fixes this with the cessation of interfaces and walls
i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine
its performative
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate
i really havent
"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
I'm sat out the front of a cafe in Hatton Garden. I've just eaten a brie and bacon panini, and I'm rolling a cigarette. Feeling very London. An old man comes up to me and asks for a roll-up. I oblige.
all that is to say