"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
The only real Londoner remaining is old, bitter, kept around for entertainment, defined by tropes from 30+ years ago. They play gangsters in films, or they work in a pie and mash shop, or they go on Business Insider's YouTube channel to tell you about their crimes. And they somehow still find the time to spend all day hanging about cafes and pubs for you to bump into, to remind you of Real London.
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
no longer writing in the third person
Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."
i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it
like first name
god being the centre magnet
not their contents
i understand
barren land
its good
have you read
isaac newton
what do you mean