a fiesta of charms

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...autobiography at Manor House (Off The Grid)...
...I feel obligated to a certain way of thinking, I thought, as
I heard the door beside me go, overhearing a conversation about
money, time and desires as if one heard at a bank, post office, or
an off licence. I then sat upright and felt around for the sandwich
I hadn’t finished the night before... cheese, pickle, off date salami
and perhaps too much tomato sauce, as the taste of the sandwich
seemed terrorised by the amount of tomato sauce that happened
to just dullop onto it. The scent of the cheese had distilled by this
time and so I felt a morose feeling erupt, until the door went and
I got up to see who it could be. I did wonder as I dragged myself
to the door of who, as I had been in this destitute house for the
homeless for about six months and I hadn’t really seen the light
of day. Or even spoken to anyone for about a month, if I could
remember. The notion of being devoid of endorphins seemed a
point of note, but what is there to really achieve in life..?
...I opened the door and saw Benny, Hawaiian shirt, brown
leather jacket. He asked where I had been and I asked how he
knew where I lived. Benny had gone to live in Greenwich about a
year or two before this so I wasn’t expecting him, but I let him in
and we started shooting the shit. Talking about a fight outside the
Betting Shop on Broadway Market, a woman we both knew called
Marine now living in Clapton with a Pimp called Clyde. The
antics in the adjoining room more and more feverish, but neither
myself or Benny mentioned it. That’s the thing about the
underbelly of society it’s rather coy to obvious conversations.
People eat, sleep, shit and fuck, in no particular order, so there’s
no real need to comment on it all... it’s all so meaningless I
thought, before Benny asked about Gia... I told him that she had
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