the textwall is as much for me as it is for you
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about...
whatever
She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm
not taking
in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get
a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation,
what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect
upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.
but really the thing should be autonomous
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
Style
confused - is it the tide or its absense? I still like where I was going with
it. anyway, real reader know this site is the note.
it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!
i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i
didn’t watch it then
It Will Get Lighter
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
