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The long wait to becoming almighty so I can savour the decadent taste of fall

Today is my third day here in Brighton, and it is hardly what I would consider a pleasant experience. However it is not without its own sweet moments. I myself do love to partake in the glorious minutes of peace that I oh so left with my old life. Old habits simply die hard.

The plan today was to walk home back to London, and I then chickened out seven kilometres through with my tailfeather tucked neatly inside my asshole. I can still feel the nagging discomfort my anus seems hard-pressed to let go after the morning shit once I was done with my first coffee inside the McDonald's lavatory in Marina Village. It had been a few days since I had let go, and so it felt like a rubbish dump that turned into a nuclear warhead somewhere in between. My gastric space now feels as if it had been turned into an Arizonan launching site and is still reeling after a test run.

Also today it feels as though my career as a petty criminal has finally been made official. It almost feels second nature to me now, regardless of the fact that I almost got into deep trouble after forgetting the most simple rule of kleptomiming. Fortunately for me the person in charge of the small establishment was somewhat a dunce, and I was able to walk away scot-free.

However the absence of the Swiss experience yet lingers in the air. My heart feels oddly betrayed, but I do admit I did this to myself from the get-go and have no one else to blame but my own. No one asked me to come to Brighton. No one? Really? Hm.

So I still have some hours to burn before a Monday get-together comes into full view. Two or three hours of that really is not that much to ask, and then I can go on and resume what I had almost started earlier today. My phone indicates seventeen full hours of walk from this furthest point in the southern part of England to Kings Cross in the capital. Christ I hope strength and courage guide me. I have about forty hours to spare before work with Esprit also comes knocking.

It should not be that hard, should it?

And joyful news! I have tickets for two to the BBC event Museum of Curiosities at Oxford Circus in London for the second of May. I can think of only one person to take with me, but it's not a lady, and I want a date. Fuck this. Itinerary for this week is good, but I need to be more proactive. I need to survive for three weeks with only less than forty quid in tow. And with nowhere else to sleep, it feels like a bloodbath.

Wala sa hinagap na ako'y mabibigo.

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