After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
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.
we need to be deconstructing our identities
isaac newton
its good
and the fake qualifier
what do you think my name is
or never left
god "possessing" artists "possessing" people
was it worth it
you know who you are. no more time, not like
1
. way too specific.lol
yeah
ion
its good
fw
sorry i am texting like a slav
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.