My first full week at work, well 30 hours, done.
Fragments:
Waking up at 9:30am, lying about reading Donna Tartt's 'The Goldfinch'. Leaving for work at about midday. Coffee in town somewhere - usually the Bystander cafe - and working on a drawing of a woman whose dress may be made of branches. Slipping out of known Brighton into unknown Brighton - that semi-industrial era to the left of Trafalgar Street.
New England House, brooding and dreamy, a hospital-factory of a place. Creaky old lifts. Wide corridors, paint flaking in a kind ways. Call scripts, mini-briefs, charity chats, fundraiser stats. Standing with the smokers at breaktimes, still unused to early nightfalls. Mint Aeros, and waiting for 9:00pm. Saw goodbye to my fellow trainees. Head along the darkness by St Annes Well park. (Last night, a man tying up his shoelaces on the wall. Pass by, and over my music, hear him shouting at someone in the Friday night park 'watch your fucking language, bruv'. Walk on under spectral or lurid white lamps.
Baked potatoes and cheese. Repeats of Peep Show. Fall asleep by 1:00am.
Deep dreams.
Remember only fragments come 9:30am.
