What an absolutely hilarious story. I love it. I can see not realizing what is going on. Because you are minding your own business for the most part and you catch something and think, "ha ha...no that can't be." Because most of the time we don't experience that sort of thing.
Also, the more I think about it, the more I think that I didn't want to countenance the idea that people would be doing such desperate and sordid things a few days before Christmas. In my presence. When I was tired and I just wanted to get home and into bed.
That is wonderful, far more than an anecdote. To be precise, it's a little less than a short story, but far far more than an anecdote. Is there a name for that?
I've got a feeling that, whatever it was, I will wake up in the morning and think about it some more.
This story is amazing; not only for the situation - which is so bizarre - but for the way it dragged me in while I was scanning through a friends friendslist. So intense!
Having been drawn into reading your journal, I have to ask: where are all the great, scummy, old school cafe's in Brighton? Every time I visit my sister, I mistakenly end up in a hipster nightmare in the lanes even though I know I'll hate it.
Oh don't get me started. Almost all the decent ones have fallen by the wayside, which is unbelievable for what's really just a jumped-up seaside town. There's the Kitchen Café on the left hand side of Trafalgar Street as you go down from the station, nearer the bottom. It must have had an amazing 30s interior once; just a few bits of it left now. And the Dumb Waiter in Sydney Street's ok. But really, don't get me started.
Actually, the caff at the Newhaven port terminal is really great. But then they have a constant stream of lorry drivers to feed.
The Dumb Waiter bothers me, or rather, specifically their bubble irks me. It's not made of leftovers! Which is just astonishing. They might try and woo me with their soy chai, and their upstairs window table which is a perfect People Judgement spot; but I just can't get totally comfortable. I'll check the Kitchen Café out... But really, I miss horrible old stained tea rooms.
I'm pretty sure he was thoroughly bad. Or at least, I think he was being paid to get her through - who knows how bad that makes him, without knowing his story. But he was happy to pretend that he'd never seen her before once they were past customs, and then he legged it.
As for her, I can't believe she's very ok, wherever she's ended up.
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I've got a feeling that, whatever it was, I will wake up in the morning and think about it some more.
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Having been drawn into reading your journal, I have to ask: where are all the great, scummy, old school cafe's in Brighton? Every time I visit my sister, I mistakenly end up in a hipster nightmare in the lanes even though I know I'll hate it.
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Actually, the caff at the Newhaven port terminal is really great. But then they have a constant stream of lorry drivers to feed.
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Maybe in forty years' time sensitive people will be mourning the loss of classic frozen yoghurt emporia and old-school juice bars.
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As for her, I can't believe she's very ok, wherever she's ended up.
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