yeah
Another Frenchman pushes through the crowd to join him. He's an events organiser who I'd met earlier, and he's holding a large box wrapped in a bin bag. They're the fireworks he'd smuggled in from France the night before. They're Industrial Grade, whatever that means for fireworks.
My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.
We look out over the river to a block of luxury flats built on the site of some old docks. It would be nice to live right there. Yes. The conversation drifts to the pleasantness of warm lighting and whether anyone needs a smart home. I interrupt her to make a joke about the French Raj as he runs up the causeway. We stand there laughing. The fireworks go off behind him.
Thank you, Jack, for telling me I'm just as bad as the characters (actually they're people, if that means anything to you) that I'm writing about.
like magnets
magnetisation basically means the induction of divine form unto you
idk
that looks like my instagram account
its good short few pages
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
god being the centre magnet
and the fake qualifier
was it worth it
i really havent
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
and the fake qualifier
something religious, a kind of complex,
it will get lighter
, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.way too random but already engaging. i want to explore it