that David Cameron is everywhere. has always been everywhere. why, even though he's just 49 years old, he was singing patriotic songs as a member of the Red Army back in the early 1970s. these days, when he's not making the case for bombing Syria, he's appearing in one of the misleading pictures accompanying those annoying links you see courtesy of clickbait merchants like RevContent, OutBrain etc, whenever you read anything anywhere. the photo, it has to be said, may give some insight into how Cameron, at "49", has a forehead smoother than a baby's:
it isn't edgy whatever edgy is even supposed to mean when some dick spends his trust fund on a coffee shop whose schtick is being cuntishly and unfunnily mean to women poor people etc. and "pulling" pork definitely isn't edgy now fucking maccy dees are into it and it wasn't anyway even when it was all artisan and beards and tattoos and allllll thattttttttttttt
"Perhaps love finds its most perfect expression in a gesture. Her hand curved around his hand. The human memory is deeply versed in wordless acts, best at retaining the quiet moments of tentative contact..."
from Julia by Otto de Kat
Another moment, then, when fiction rings truer than truth, with a few lines of a novel adding weight and substance to a notion I've had somewhere towards the tip of my own tongue for many years. It's been there for about 20 years now, placed, I am sure, by the echo of an instant that has never left me.
I am lying in the dark in a narrow bed in a back bedroom of a second floor flat in ulica Kielecka in Kraków. I believe the girl lying next to me is fast asleep. Somehow, in shifting the position of her body, she places her foot lightly against my calf. The sole of her foot rests there for a while, feeling cool at first but growing warmer from the contact. Its imprint hasn't faded.
