francis_george For Diane, life in the city was necessity. 'It's all I've ever known', she'd once explained to a sedate squirrel on one of her nighttime walks. 'It's survival.' She often caught glimpses of the rolling English hills in the passing adverts of the side of buses or on postcards in tourist vendors shops, or occasionally in the eyes of small children whose astonishment at the big city mirrored her own disillusionment with it. One day, in a small green area, she felt the presence of her kin behind her like a ground swell, so familiar it was stifling, and noticeably unsettling. She became aware of her wings tucked behind her, useless things which promised freedom but delivered only it's image. 'I can't leave this Godforsaken town', she thought, (or rather felt, since she rarely thought in words per se.) 'I wouldn't know where to go. I'd die, I'd starve.' She turned around and joined the pack, a few of whom had noticed an exhausted looking old man on a bench who had some bread, and were beginning to generate a hubbub about it. 'Bread!', one of them shouted, his face a featureless mass of meaningless shapes. 'Yes', she said.
'Bread.'
1w

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francis_george Arnold bought an absolutely massive car to impress Roxanne. He drove it to her building and parked outside, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and listening to golden oldies on Radio 2. He was enjoying California Dreaming and peering straight ahead, his nervous energy manifesting itself as tiny convulsions of his right leg and a palpable body of sweat on his back which stuck to the plush leather seating he'd had installed earlier that week. At 5.30, when there was still no sign, he wandered into the foyer. He hung around and eventually asked a tall, stork-like man with round spectacles if he knew her and whether or not she'd be back any time soon. 'She's teaching kids in Thailand' he reported. Apparently there'd been drinks. The stork-like man's smile was well meaning, and strikingly enthusiastic, but appeared to Arnold so smug he involuntarily formed a fist in his pocket. At 5.41 he drove home to Uxbridge. They were still playing golden oldies on Radio 2. 1w

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francis_george Angelo had move to New York from Tuscany in 1971 with only the clothes on his back, (admittedly, stylish cashmere jumpers and expensive denim jeans), and a fifty dollar note. He was a regular sucker for the American Dream, and built a waste disposal empire from the ground up, boasting 6 outlets and a neat Manhattan office by the mid-Noughties. It was 2008 when he broke it off with his then girlfriend, Maria, with the words, ‘a rolling stone gathers no moss.’ He moved to England and started afresh. On 4th January, after a sweaty day in the Slough branch of Natwest, he drove his hire car to a secluded spot and absent-mindedly funnelled kebab into his dry mouth. ‘What the fuck have I done?’, he said aloud. 2w

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francis_george Dave hadn't thought anything of it when asking Rog and Craig if he could bring his boyfriend to the quiz on Monday. 'He's shit at general knowledge, but good at getting the rounds in', he'd joked, believing he saw warmth in their beady eyes. He'd looked forward to the quiz, feeling it would be a good opportunity to consolidate the bel esprit of the group following February's redundancies. When he saw the graffiti he was at first unsurprised and numb, and later viscerally angry and hurt, cycling through witty comebacks in his head that would restore to him the upper hand. 'Rog is an infantile wanker', he imagined emblazoned on the sea walls. In the end he settled for saying it face to face, and received a respectable, if muted, response from the rest of the team. On Friday he got a text from Steve. 'Good on you mate', it read. 'Everyone knows Rog is a twat.' 2w

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francis_george Sylvia and Alain went rambling on the moor regularly, at a brisk pace, indulging in pleasant chatter, with frequent comfortable and spacious silences. It was a clear Saturday when Alain cleared his throat of a frog and blurted out, 'Why isn't there a white history month?', followed by 'It's racist against the English', incongruously loudly. Sylvia's brow was furrowed. 'Oh I don't know', she whimpered weakly, politely, trudging on and suddenly feeling a bit shit. 3w

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francis_george Pablo sat in the cab of his forklift truck. He watched, aghast, jaw agape, as Dazzle negotiated the controls of the Sennbogen with ease, subtlety, and the sort of dexterity he'd heard once described as "legerdemain". He'd googled the word and thought, 'yes, that's exactly what it is'. Then he went on Dazzle's Facebook and sighed wistfully. 3w

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francis_george Some of the lads at work called him R2D2.
'I'm not bloody R2D2', he spat, but the ringleader only smirked. He swore he'd stop doing their printing one day, but knew deep down he never would.
3w

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francis_george 2pm, Thursday.
Albert said, 'I'll jump'.
Luca's hand landed sharply on Albert's. It was warm and there were veins.
'Don't', he offered. 'You'll only sprain an ankle.'
4w
  •   benjamin_wells ~10am, Monday, 1998. A spaniel puppy (sold from my family to the La Ruca owners) ran out of this shop and got crushed by a car. I've never forgiven them. True story. 4w

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francis_george My future living room set up 1mon

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X-Pro II Francis Blagburn
francis_george Spot the snazzy nineties photo of my Mum. 1mon

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Walden Francis Blagburn
francis_george Sort of wish I was back in the lakes with these reprobates. 2mon

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francis_george A peaceful tree with a tranquil vibe 2mon

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francis_george Couldn't resist doing one of these. Lovely hols in UK. 2mon

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francis_george Made some friends on the fells 2mon

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Lo-fi Francis Blagburn
francis_george Edinburgh. 2mon

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Rise Francis Blagburn
francis_george 22! 2mon

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francis_george I'm already hooked. (Lolito, Ben Brooks) 2mon

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francis_george Best present from my sis! 2mon

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francis_george Just fort I'd upload a pic 2mon

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X-Pro II Francis Blagburn
francis_george Suburban nites 3mon

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