0x9B3e

A while back, at a Sunday pub lunch a friend’s kid plonked down opposite. They had never spoken to me before. Like ever. In their whole miserable sixteen tawdry years of existence. — What’s the point of literature? — Pleasure? It is only now some three years later, that I know the real life answer to that question. I hired them. To work for me. I wanted to give them a chance to make words come alive in action in situ as the social glue between us. I want to give them real life experience in a...