Picture

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

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.

kind of mythopoesis

"Put a blanket."

I am below everything.

Better Lift

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

13, H, grate

no longer writing in the third person

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch