Whatever comes to mind before I alter it with the overpaint of time. Mostly satire, poetry and fiction but occasional unreliable fact, as all facts seems to be today. From deepest Notting Hill. London.
Sunday 30 May 2010
Whores d'ouvres.
A dull grey morning spent attempting to write a torch song.
Bob Dylan's 'you're going to make me lonesome when you go' doesn't help much.
Then a 'chanteuse' in Soho posed the question: "Are we all prostitutes"?
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