Today I wrote a narrative of my meal at borough market from the perspective of the polystyrene tray that held my curry. It was an emotional piece, dealing with issues of rejection, inadequacy and abandonment. Here are some extracts.
"Even the fork gets to deliver the satisfaction direct. My cradle is underpinning but overlooked."
"Tainted orange and discarded"
"Slowly reduced to my former self"
"So Lonely"
This is what living in London does to people?
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