...a deathly serenade...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAA
last words I heard him utter, beauty is a whore.
The Professor knew that he needed to go and
pay him a visit in Dalston, and was in a mood.
Cheering The Professor up, he decided that I
accompany him, as Olga just angered Yashu.
Even though I was reluctant, but I did have a
few words planned in order to dish some food
for thought in Yashu’s direction, as the private
Artist he had decided to BECOME. I do admit
this… I doubted this privacy, with all those Art
dealers, and V.I.P wine he had long accepted: A
prayer here, a prayer there, everywhere a
sermon. Leila was the true Artist, Yashu was
guilty of not being this. But the trinity that was
us had to persist. And so I went along to
Yashu’s, feeling intrinsically linked and a little
curious, perhaps masquerading as worry. We
arrived to his Dalston studio and knocked. We
heard nothing, but after five minutes frustrated,
The Professor was ready to leave. Just as we
were going to do so, still feeling slightly strange
about the loud music emanating out of Yashu’s
studio apartment, we both wondered why this
was. And was then met with Mary Bine, one of
Yashu’s Art dealers, I’ve been trying Yashu for
weeks, and this song must have been playing
since Thursday, she said. Maybe he’s gone out to
fetch more V.I.P wine, I said. What’s V.I.P wine?
said Mary Bine a guilty provider of much of the
V.I.P wine, unaware, of course. We all decided
that we would call the Landlord as the song on
repeat was at least an understandable reason to
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