to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos
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.
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46
She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
Today I felt like starting
yes
it is hopeful
Lift Analysis
no longer writing in the third person
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch