this will be about a slug

Thank you, Jack

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

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.

"Put a blanket."

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.

in a post. I want to be remembered

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after dusk, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41

it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!

we need to be deconstructing our identities

i did until you asked which kind of gave it away

He was cast as the guy who gets picked up and thrown out of the poker game to set the scene before the main characters arrive. Out of Real London and into real London, a discarded prop, at this party, chatting to me.

Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17

and so on. not wanting the rhyming / clanging

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 22:11:24

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59

Rain, starting

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

I imagine that some lab-grown 29-year-old from Woking with a mind honed to identify individuals who fit the profile of Real Londoner (as conceived of by 50 opinion-polled racist builders and their wives in the Midlands) picks a stubborn local who can still somehow afford to live here and passes him along to some creative studio.