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Saturday, 2/9/2012, 1329: Emaciated hipsters in fashionably mismatched clothing dribble the nonviable masturbatory semen they consider conversation into their rats' nest beards and overpriced fairtrade coffee. I leaf through my folder; a great deal remains unfinished but achieving anything of value in these conditions is impossible. It's time for a change of scene.
As above, 1519: The upper level of this unsavoury establishment is mercifully quiet. I start another pencil rough. A slightly scruffy character unwisely decides to approach the scowling shaven-headed guy in the black fatigues and goggles. Before he can even start his spiel I tell him I'm out of cash. "That's a good drawing," he says pleasantly, though I don't have a drawing yet. "No," I tell him. "This is shit!" And I damn well mean it, too. The best I've come out with so far is a strangled cartoon rabbit.
As above, 1519: The upper level of this unsavoury establishment is mercifully quiet. I start another pencil rough. A slightly scruffy character unwisely decides to approach the scowling shaven-headed guy in the black fatigues and goggles. Before he can even start his spiel I tell him I'm out of cash. "That's a good drawing," he says pleasantly, though I don't have a drawing yet. "No," I tell him. "This is shit!" And I damn well mean it, too. The best I've come out with so far is a strangled cartoon rabbit.
As above, 2145: Swanston Street Mcdonalds is overrun with emos. They seem to like these wretched scribbles. I'm still spitting vitriol but none of it's directed at them. I'd forgotten how sulky, bitchy, gluttonous, foul-mouthed and pretentious scene girls can be. I'm in my own kind of heaven.
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