Fake addresses

I used to pal around with this kid from Central St Martins that hung around the skate park, stalked foxes (the British equivalent of raccoons) and never had a cell phone because he was the most broke person I've known since my own arrival to the City.

We would lurk around Hampstead Heath on Thursday nights eating Sainsbury's pies and buying matches for underage smokers and sit in Tower Hamlet council estates until sunrise.

The last time I spoke to him, I had returned from a week in Barcelona to find our resident mouse dead on my duvet. It had climbed into one of the perspex boxes that I used to sort my makeup and expired in a pile of Bourjois blush and cuticle oil. My impoverished pal would have come to Settles Street to stuff it and wear it as a trophy if I had given him my address, but in the end I put the transparent coffin and the bed sheets in the trash outside and said a little prayer for the rodent's family.

He painted me on a mirror and swore he would break it before it was finished. I can't tell if I'm offended or honoured and I feel a little arrogant putting it online.



Source: Oszar (UK)

and justice for everyone!

Since cloistering myself in Canada for the season, I've started creeping London street blogs, looking for my friends and all the people I used to run in to at parties still out after 3am in E1.












My favourite night in London started with several flats of free beer and pretzel sticks in Portobello with my favourite coworker and my BFF. We ditched early, trekked to the Central line, and alighted at Bank to pee in an alleyway before resuming our Underground journey to Old Street. Upon arriving, we began the search for sold-out Stag & Dagger festival tickets, which ended the second we arrived in Shoreditch and were ushered into the Ed Banger party by a fortuitously situated, soft-spoken and well-connected friend from my first night at Hoxton. Showing up in time for SebastiAn and DJ Falcon's set, we settled in for illicit activities in a back corner with some acquaintances and their boyfriends - motherfucking Busy P and his black leather jacket-wearing Justice crew.

Speaking of, here is a nice fifteen minute mix to dress to for fall:
Justice - Dior S/S 09

Source: Glamcanyon (UK), Missing Toof (USA)