And now it's time for another zany edition of:
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Croydon (London's 'hood where fathers of two regularly get shot in parks)
I was the last person on a bus that was rapidly travelling in exactly the wrong direction I need to go when suddenly the bus driver stopped in front of the above church where, displayed prominently, was a large sign requesting that residents stop pissing on it.
"This bus is terminated. You have to go."
"Terminated? But... Where am I? This is the land of baggy-pants people. I wanted bankers and Beef Eaters! I'm sorry, I seem to be temporarily lost."
And then he laughed in my face.
I calmly vacated the bus, walked around the churchyard having a Thomas Gray moment, mused about the disappearance of the English countryside and the existential doom that hangs over us all, and then I went back to the bus, and lit it on fire.
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Islington (Where there are canals.)
I was trying to find a yarn store. Instead, I discovered a canal. And no yarn.
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I'm like bloody Christopher Columbus bloody-well reborn.
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1 comment:
how was the hood? love, mom
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