Time is of the essence so I'll keep this brief.
I'm stranded in shoreditch. I've been snatched and removed to some kind of other world, a different country at least. How they whisked me through passport control is anybody's guess but I'm currently holed-up in a "café;" "#cafe1001" apparently.
The natives are reminiscent of the aboriginals, with intricate indigenous skin markings, piercings-a-plenty & their clothing manages to be both dated and current, fashionable and awkward.
Clearly razors are banned in this hemisphere since cyclists and skateboarders alike boast what I am calling FCUK beards, or perhaps they provide protection from the elements when traveling along cobbles streets. I am opposite a man wearing a fur scarf that suggests a baby chinchilla met it's end in the making while his partner's dyed grey hair is tied in place with a tie-dyed bandanna. I'm beginning to wish is brought a cloak to hide under.
There's no water source here so locals must walk for days or partake in the local brew: "Red Stripe" ...
Oh crap I've been spotted...gotta go
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