I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.
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.
you cannot feed someone truth
no i haven't really read anything
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.
much more tactility
have you read
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
i was tempted to lie about my name
okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models
i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
Maybe, Jack, I'm doing this because I'm English?
all that is to say
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