Don’t call it a comeback.
What are we to do with our eyes?
Gin, cricket, art and war. And pubs, lots of pubs.
You’ve got a rare chance to escape in the dark, or even take a nap. Plus you get a rest from chat while someone else does all the work.
People are forced to exist in underground tunnels or high-rise monoliths, while at ground level cars roam free.
‘Fuck art, let’s drink,’ said Half-life, wafting warm air up his dress.
Cycle to pubs like country folk, but without running into your cousins, who may be your sisters.
Imagine a riverside location filled with characterful buildings, open green spaces and even a small farm. What could possibly go wrong?
Fuck the neutrals. Embrace the partisan.