pip

I wrote late into the evening over a lead bottle of India blue ink. Considering the speed of the publisher and his late, intestate equipment, was there any choice? My days as a bottle-black were numbered.
Someone called me Pip. Out across the tide flats of the lower Thames and up just a bit from the tide-pool where the garbage collects itself. Someone called me Pip.
As Pip, I stood among the reeds of the Thames floodplain, wondering.
So much for the Broken Social Scene.