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.
"Put a blanket."

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

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

a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it