no longer writing in the third person

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

"Put a blanket."

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.

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Picture

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

Style

its performative

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

so the method has to be autonomous