Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

"Put a blanket."

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

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.

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

i really havent

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

the site i am dreaming

which magnetises chains of pins

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your feed looks like my tumblr

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

autonomy of learning