वे अरे थे पीपुल

I sit cross-legged on a dirty couch somewhere in the Edinburgh West-End. I look out the window, over the rooftops of the old tenement houses that govern my current Scottish world of existence. Their comical chimney orgies provide heating and seating for noise polluting seagulls and nonchalant pigeons. It makes me smile mid-yawn. I drink my bitter black coffee. This spot is mine right now, and there's an ass-print on the couch to prove it. It's bigger than I'd like but hey! I got back. Sweet.

It's spring. I'm 29. I'm far from home, but then again I've come to realise that home is located in a blur. It doesn't seem tangible anymore.

So sad. Ish.

29. Living like a bum on people's couches, with four months to set it all straight. Get sorted. Turning 30 will provide all the answers, won't it?

Still not writing, still just hiding.

That semi-rhymed.

Currently I'm listening to Andy's techno. It's doing my head in. My camera's charged - might as well go out, it being my day off. Although. Writers shouldn't have days off.


Music me this: Empire Of The Sun - We Are The People



Makes everything OK!