Imagine if I went out like that. Wearing just a mask and holding a bag of my own shit. Or if I stood on top of my boat, like a statue, in the rain and the wind. We’re not in Covent Garden though, we’re in Alperton, so instead of tourists taking pictures I’d probably be taken to a psychiatric hospital right away.
I’m scared of many things, but I’m not going to tell you about it, because once you know you have an advantage over me. But I can tell you that before taking this picture I made sure all curtains were drawn and I put a towel in front of the door. I was scared someone may witness this moment, and I didn’t really want anyone to. I don’t want you to know some things about me. You don’t want me to know some things about you. We all try to show our best side. But then some shit always comes out regardless of how much we try to hide it. Some secret shit which we didn’t really want to show because we’re scared people won’t like us anymore and we’re going to die alone. But we’re going to die alone anyway. And that’s quite scary.