Wednesday, August 31, 2022

There was a red form through the frosted glass of the loo. It had a human quality, like someone’s head cloaked in the hood of their anorak. It was probably something nothing.

The hot water came out cold and the cold water came out cold.

I noticed all the wines on the pub menu were high in alcohol, fourteen, fourteen and a half. It’s a sure sign of global warming if there ever was one.

There were two aging portly men at a booth talking about how they’re fucked, they don’t know where the money goes, there’s not enough to last. One said, “I ask myself, can it get any worse? And it gets worse.”

The pub beside Trumper’s, full of yuppies drinking after work. A man walked stiffly on his prosthetic legs across the street. I made a point not to stare but of course I did after he’d passed by. Then I thought, he must feel everyone’s eyes on his back too.

Tuesday, August 30, 2022

What I saw through the lens of my phone didn’t resemble what I saw through my eyes. It was duller and flatter of course but also it didn’t seem to feature the charming little village off in the distance to the left. I took a picture anyway and put it down. Now there’s just poles and fields and low forests racing by.

Writing is exploring undiscovered territory. The text prediction on the smart device is a tool like a helmet lamp in a cave. It sees everything a moment before you do but it doesn’t care.

It must be said it offered me the word “care” a bit reluctantly there.

A road with a new black surface and bright white stripes darting from below the tracks into the woods.

Gravel piles, always gravel piles.

Wednesday, August 24, 2022

And the French have businesses with names like Crea Concept, the stenciled name reaching from the darkened picture window into your addled brain. What do they think they’re doing to a people at night tossed on red wine with a word like that. Concept.