a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
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.
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."