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About London

Pro tip—check the corners near dive bars. That’s where they chill, smokin, laughin. Saw one with a tat— “Love’s a program”—deep, huh? Straight outta Spielberg’s brain. Got me thinkin—am I programmed to notice this crap? Probly. I’m a sap for it.

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The bed was not my own. Someone lay there still. Someone who would know my name. What I′d hoped to find in all my lovers. Were they lovers? Can I call them.

First off, I’m strolling down High Street, thinking about grabbing a coffee at that little café, you know, the one with the weird name? “Café Cwtch” or something. I mean, who even comes up with that? But hey, I’m all for quirky vibes. So, I’m in line, and this dude in front of me orders, like, a triple-shot, half-caf, soy latte with extra foam. I’m just standing there, rolling my eyes. Like, bro, it’s just coffee, not a potion for eternal life!

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