Entry tags:
The Beautiful Fucking View
What a fucking beautiful day. What a beautiful fucking day. What a beautiful day fucking. What fucking a beautiful day. Fucking what a beautiful day.
Last night, I came home to a ginger policeman standing in my building's entrance hall. I said hello; he said good evening. There were no blood spots on the walls. He was a severe living statue, like Gilbert & George.
In the tube this morning: a man stares at The Sun's page 3 girl; a woman reads Victoria Hislop's novel The Island; and a prim and proper spinster-type reads The Bible. I read a novel about lesbians. I win. Around Cannon Street, a blonde transexual wheels her suitcase into the carriage. She wears moustard shoes over black stockings. I'm not 100% sure she is a transexual.
Time to fish the sunblock out of the cupboard.
Last night, I came home to a ginger policeman standing in my building's entrance hall. I said hello; he said good evening. There were no blood spots on the walls. He was a severe living statue, like Gilbert & George.
In the tube this morning: a man stares at The Sun's page 3 girl; a woman reads Victoria Hislop's novel The Island; and a prim and proper spinster-type reads The Bible. I read a novel about lesbians. I win. Around Cannon Street, a blonde transexual wheels her suitcase into the carriage. She wears moustard shoes over black stockings. I'm not 100% sure she is a transexual.
Time to fish the sunblock out of the cupboard.