'Twas a sweet evening, but overall uneventful, yesterday was. It was mounted on the carcasses of inevitability from the first, with no hope of reprieve. It is supposed to be the case that I should have been halfway to London by now. My journey began yesterday and crashed and burned only an hour or so later. Thorough cowardice and forced elation. Slowly I have acclimated (acclimatised?) to my new nature. Sleep no longer was a pained affair. I wake up and go before anyone barely notices. The only witnesses I have are coming from the eyes of uncaring rubbishmen doing their morning dues.
Today the plan is to just not die. By hook or crook, I will survive. Come tomorrow, I will be back in London working once again at Mansion House and Vintners, the usual piss-posh. Wembley after that for two days. Ecstatic, with a little bit of last night's mackerel stuck in my teeth after I threw up a little bit in my mouth after saying that. Tragedy is what would be if a single shift gets shafted off my grasp. I still have about two weeks and three day before payday, and it will be a long-winding road from here to there. Hardships will be had for certain. Just not a moment long ago was a conversation with a man who I thought was my salvation. I had applied for a program that would hopefully give me roof for the rough, but what I was only reassured with was hopelessness. Kept asking me for a frequent spot, as if as a homeless person you have to mark a territory and brandish it around as if your own. I told him, "To be honest, I don't know. It's really hard to say. Anywhere outside Kings Cross-St. Pancras station." Nothing is ever enough. He required from me a spot, a nonexistent fucking spot. He would not have it any other way and would fight me tooth and nail even though I cannot claim one place as my own. Is it that difficult to fathom that someone without a place of their own would be roaming around hoping to shake off this disease and find a miracle or so mayhap? No, the dunce would rather the specifics, where there happens to be none. I surrender to this system of shittery and would rather deal not with the complications and rest assured that tonight is going to be rough so I can easily move on for the next day.
I still have until tomorrow to unshitten what tiny creases there may be before the more productive hours come to light. That is, go back to my locker for the shoes and other stuff, wash myself clean as a cunt, nab me some food absent worries. Right now I could really use a bit of groom. Once I have sorted out all the simpler things, the next step is to just gauge time and walk swift as intended, walk efficient, and, most of all, walk proud.