actually, i didn't recall he had agreed to a visit or that i would have ever asked for him to so i tell them to stall while i vacuum and change the cat litter. ( i guess it's a good thing mozz likes the, uh, pussy...)
someone is in the apartment with me. i don't know who it is but they're not helping much as i vacuum some rug i do not recognize. before you know it morrissey is at the door and my hair -which has grown mysteriously 80's televangelist large- is a mess and the litter it still needs a- changing.
i wake up with a cat staring at me probably wondering where the lead singer of the smiths is.
this is what happens when you drink espresso and catalogue bizarre 78s all night long.
florrie forde/ take me back to dear old blighty 1917