There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
"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.
send your tumblr
i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate
which magnetises chains of pins
fw
like magnets
your feed looks like my tumblr
ahnaf abrar
lol yea
yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf
and the fake qualifier
yeah
and the fake qualifier
i did until you asked which kind of gave it away
i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine
idk
i really havent
The Hatton geezer (fuck off) is emptying his pockets, searching for the silver rizlas he apparently has. He refuses to take one of mine (also silver) because the tobacco I'm giving him is already too much to ask. He tells me about the guy who can do 50g of Golden Virginia for a good price, the guy who every other man over 50 knows. I'm not interested.
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
its good short few pages
yes
to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos