Berwick Street

Eating a box of food from Beetroot (veggie hippy slop but somehow exactly the kind of thing that hits the spot late on Saturday afternoons), watching the world go by. Stalls of green grocers, and an exotic foreign fruitier. Behind the stalls a doorway with computer written notices telling of a model on the 3rd floor. Looking up there was a red light bulb on the window sill, lit up. No mistaking the kind of modelling she's doing then.




At the table next to me a group of producers and set designers discussed the set of the play they were doing. It was going to involve a chair, not an armchair with loose covers but a chair. A chair that one of them thought wasn't strong enough for the female actor to jump up and down on in a youthful display of joy about love.