I currently live in a shoebox apartment room in an ugly block of flats in Elephant and Castle. My window only opens a fraction of the way due to ‘growing suicide concerns’ and my kitchen smells of rotting food and corner shop vodka. But perhaps the most irritating factor of them all is the never ending noise levels coming from the courtyard below my bedroom.

For the past two months I have barely slept. Unable to drift off from the awful 90s European pop music coming loudly from next door. My flatmates are also frequently drunk and noisy. To try and solve my problems I asked my twin sister for help.

‘Just get addicted to Zopiclone,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘All you have to do is cry to your Doctor and they’ll hand it over, simple. It solves all my comedowns’ she slurred over the phone. ‘I’ll bear that in mind…’ I mumble, thinking it was the best advice I was going to get from a kethead.

Despite not sleeping my social life has been unusually blossoming. Last Saturday I went to a party in a squat with my friend Jimma. It was everything I had ever wanted in a night. God bless you Scumoween. Except I lost my passport and dictaphone whilst having an out of body trip on a balloon. You win some you loose some.


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