The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

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

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

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

I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank.

We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river.

I am below everything.

She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.

And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.

ion

Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?

magnetises a pin

Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17

...

god being the centre magnet