October 28, 2007.

It's an afternoon for brit pop. It's an afternoon for hazelnut coffee. It's an afternoon for getting it right, setting it straight, fuck this noise. It's a windy day in the big city and my socks are falling down. The sting is still there but baby we can get over it, we can get past it if we try. It's a day for silently thanking past loves for everything and quietly cursing our enemies still at large. You can't run forever, I've got the dogs on your trail, this time they're going for the throat.

It's a day for sideways glances and sleight of hand. It's a day for levitation and seeing endless blue skies where there aren't any. It's a day for full distortion and overdrive and overkill and gratuitous everything, a prelude to a night of excess and neverenough, a grand adventure into the catacombs of backrooms and VIP lounges only to find overflowing ashtrays and your body double passed out face down on the couch.

It's an afternoon for stopping time, backing up, starting over, playing again, one more chance boss, just this once. It's an afternoon for forgetting revenge fantasies and forgetting that it's winter and that your friends are gone and no one remembers your name anymore. It's an afternoon for delusions of high fashion and saturated colours and hats at fashionable angles and pants rolled just so, shirts with just the right amount of derelict, accents from whoknowswhere and names with too many vowels.

It's a beautiful day.