>how come ever time you cum around my london-london bridge, wanna go down?
>the streets are warm and wet, and i run around in spring jackets. the days flow like rivers and streams heading for the deep. the men’s eyes are focused down the centre of my body and the pubs spill out onto the yellow dots of wrong-direction traffic.
i am already ahead of myself.
in 2 days, i’ve got my bank account, a mobile phone, my metropass, a job interview at a wildly-awesome theatre, lots of appointments to see flats, and am meeting up with my british friends for shopping (of the clothes and opposite-sex variety).
there is a fear. failure. poverty. rejection. loneliness. but right now it’s propelling me forward instead of holding me back.
there’s a roughness to the bank notes. i rub it against my cheek. a callous civilization all my own.
change here for the circle line. change here for the central line. change here for the piccadilly line.
the days roll on and i have no time to concern myself with niceities. nice is such a ripoff. time for the coquette.
from now on, i’m on level 8. you don’t wanna see me on 10.