I'm sat out the front of a cafe in Hatton Garden. I've just eaten a brie and
bacon panini, and I'm rolling a cigarette. Feeling very London. An old man
comes up to me and asks for a roll-up. I oblige.
Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems
annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder
where it goes in the day.
its good
autonomy of learning
I catch him on his way to the bar, telling him about this old racist failed
actor that I'm avoiding. That I'm failing to confront. I get the sense he's
avoiding people too. We get our drinks and find a corner. We chat for a bit.
He's managing just fine.
