A man sneezed and a red rose blew out.

I like this place, it's ok.

Three faces lit up in blue fairy lights and lighted up in fairy powder, gathered around a friend who, under some strange circumstances, has been reveled a prophet. In the UK £14, 000, 000 is put into research into schizophrenia a year. Thousands of test participants are subjected to both psychological and medical trials. People are scared by news reports desperately pointing to drugs and lack of a 'normal' child hood. And then my friend, some guy in black deep rimmed glasses and a grey hoody turns round and tell us he's discovered what causes it - and then during the few seconds when we cry along inside some childrens cartoon, he forgets.


The red adidas jeans being moved like a manikin. Wide white whites in their eyes, a reef of coral around the small pupil, dodging yet still piercing eye. The African voices and the Carribean drinks.
Some bar hidden in Elephant and Castle. 50 art students and socialites gather round to patiently wait 4 hours in a room of basic and shit art glossed and licked shut by Stephen Fry's pussy. 5 of the other kids, don't know what to do. Thought the front lobby was the art gallery for 20 minutes. Stand close in a circle, but don't even talk to each other. And they smoke more cigarettes than they usaully would.


I like seeing the kids with leaflets to vote them 'head of the college radio station' or 'Student Union President'. Some world where they're really trying. Some how they never manage to focus any attention on from themselves except their words and their ideas. They don't play dressing up on weekends in Camden or Shoreditch. They still think a vintage shop is for nans. They like moderation and they endure work. Some of them are still probably virgins.

The guy who won't leave the Amersham Arm's. He's like 70 and he's been there nearly every day for the last 40 years, espcially recently (as some sort of protest). He refuses to accept student presence within the pub and barely talks to anyone under 65. The one time Dan spoke to him, he promised him we wouldn't tell him to move up, that's the one thing he hated. Well sure enough a few friends turn up, and we don't really have enough space. We ask him quivering with doubt, when he stands up, raging in inaudible mumbles, he throws over a chair by swinging his walking cane straight into the side of it and leaves the pub.

And you know, that's just the shittest stuff, you can't smell a flower through a picture, you won't know till you start walking down alleys instead of main roads.

I don't know, some good guys really are the good guys.