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.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
Today I felt like starting
They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.
I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank.
Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.
yes
I am below everything.
Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49
Maybe, Jack, I'm doing this because I'm English?
She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.
okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models
as in