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[15 Dec 2011|06:52pm] |
[London's still not home, not like the two-bedroom-and-sitting-room apartments with the two people who mean no less than everything to him are. But Haven is comfortable. It's warm and safe and the voices in his mind are kept at bay. He's never asked for much more than that. Still he's not used to being such a small fish in such a large bowl, and the need to if not network then at least mark his ground has become necessary. He doesn't, by and large, trust these journals, these faceless playgrounds for rambling text. One could hold the right conversation with the completely wrong person and not know it til it's too late. But at least if they're anonymous, he can be too, until he doesn't want to anymore. His hand is deceptively strong on the paper, defensive and casually offensive from the start. All cards on the table.May as well.]
Lately I can't even go into a pub without being bombarded with songs about the fat pedo and his deer. I think that's why they make New Years', it's a built in way to wipe the entire last month out of your mind. And I'm officially pretending it's the 31st tomorrow night but to do that I have to find a pub that isn't playing christmas music. It might be impossible.
[...]
And where's there a bookstore around? The interesting sort.
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