a fiesta of charms

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
...homage to Dostoevsky...
...tired by the extremities of losing it, as mentioned to Chiga the
night before, she moved about near the edge of the bed looking
out through the window to see a few people go about their
day... an elder lady zipping up a lilac jacket that protected the
wind from a pair of particularly low hanging aged breasts, a
man wearing a burgundy turban half reading a newspaper and
half watching his footsteps, two women she knew as Clara and
Face... she nearly opened the window to call for the women,
but stopped at the thought before she picked up the bottle of
Jack that sat on the floor and took three swigs...
...the bath seemed less calming once in it, fidgeting in the dark
in the lukewarm water accidentally tasting the jasmine bubble
bath, whilst the front door went...
...the visions had started just as they reached the street corner
up next to the Pub that just closed, mostly because of the
apparent kiddie fiddler ring above it... good riddance ah...
Caba’s voice lulled towards the end of this sentence as she
remembers the week before when they went too far, she told
Chiga, without knowing that Chiga was rather complicit...
...the drunk reverie of the night turned into small violences that
she had grown accustomed to, a little punch up outside an off
licence, a bottle thrown under a lamppost lit light that
accentuates their nocturnal ways... jaded by all that was
occurring she moved ahead of them towards Dalston, past the
bars, closing clubs, towards Absie’s place... knocking and
waiting before Absie arrived to the door talking about how Fran
was up the stairs having a kip... there was a silence at this
point... before she walked in, tip toeing into the kitchen where
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