Only rock n roll

The great thing about having clever friends who send you their work is that you get to read it ‘in the raw’, half-baked and oozing with promise and hope and so much life that you will remember the joy of reading it in this state—as a .docx or an attachment or as half-toned pages smeared with the remains of the dinner you stopped eating in amazement mid-forkful—long after the plaudits and glossy cover-art and royalties turn it into a hot property.

For a brief few moments before all that, it’s just art.