Never Too Late!

Never Too Late!
any resemblance to anyone real or imaginary is mere bad luck
we are all lying in the gutter, but some of us are trying to get up


There was a Spanish girl called Lola sitting reading a London guidebook at the bar who said she was a psychologist. I told her I needed her help and that London was an old and evil city. Then I rambled about my preoccupations to the malung and felt less like a screaming mental case inside.

Then the next day (today, or yesterday, but I'm still awake), I wrestled with my mental demons and cast them into Hades.

Immediately my luck changed and the universe started taking care of me again, manifesting beautiful women, money from nowhere, lethargic supermarket security, and bus drivers who don't look at the week-old one-day Travelcard I flash at them.