three hundred twenty


To our eternal disappointment The Idea of Kate Jackson does not appear at a table in Veselka’s, clear of our breakfast dishes, set to stand atop it and belt out “Nostalgia”. H.S.T., crown King Gonzo, passes me the flask and I’m away after one huff.
A lot of ideas as we make for the door. He tells me I should do the things I have to until they hurt.

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