Where is it? Walthamstow, more popularly known by its postcode, E17, and the boyband that derived from it, East 17;
What is there to do locally? Eat a load of jacket potatoes and run yourself over with a car;
Alright, how much are they asking? £900 pcm, bills not includedWhat happens to us when we die? Are our souls torn towards heaven or towards hell? Or do we expire into blankness, a final gasp into the long, dark, night? I've always felt that those hot white long minutes before you wake from a fever dream are as close as you get to death – fitful, agitated, your skin feeling both tight and loose on your body at the same time, the only sounds you can hear are your own muffled groans from a hundred thousand miles away – that death has no binary, no good or bad or purgatory in between, that we are not judged by the almighty and divided into one camp or another, that we pass into some sort of catch-all agony, that death is some eternal moment between wakefulness and sleep, never resting, never fully in control.
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