He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.
was it worth it
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.
your feed looks like my tumblr
in a post. I want to be remembered
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.
Maybe, Jack, I'm doing this because I'm English?
Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50
bro i read nothing in my life
currently
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46
abrar?
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its good
lol
i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
Sun, 02 Nov 2025 22:11:24
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river. I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the dim silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank. They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
and the fake qualifier
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.
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
i really havent
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.