Sublime

pangs

traipse

“Money’s never a problem, not if you’ve got half a brain.” “No?” “Money? Course not. Identify a demand, handle its supply, make your customers grateful, kill off the opposition.”

The girl in the mirror’s a woman, with her cropped black hair, her Quadrophenia T-shirt, her black jeans.

All the strength drains from my legs and arms, like I’m a puppet with its strings cut, pushed into the corner.

pissheads,

I begin rehearsing various opening lines I can use to impress Ai Imajo. I form the thought that reality is an unedited script performed once; that the truly untold tale is life itself. This seems extremely profound for about ninety seconds.

punnet

Feeling like an Irvine Welsh character,