From my cold, solitary desk in Glasgow’s West End to pink orchids and boho lighting in Hackney Downs, a fuse can blow up anything. With my router frazzled by the surge, I remembered a time gone by in the dear green place. How I used to steal Wi-Fi just to maintain my faint connection with the outside world. There were no moving pictures for company back then. No escape into make-believe worlds.

Just words.

That place was so lonesome and cold looking back. I used to wear a jacket under my duvet just to keep warm.


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