B O N D P H O N E.
Words and pictures by Chris Lamb.

12:19 counts as tomorrow, doesn’t it? I’m getting back into the twenty lines a day habit but don’t trust myself to wake up early enough to hammer them out before work. That, and after the four or five glasses of wine I’ve had on top of Audrey and Cary in Charade, writing feels like the best thing to do, lacking a dinner cruise down the Seine or a Parisian Underground to run through. So twenty lines it is.

What’s happened? Here it is, half way through February and it doesn’t feel a tick past January third. This year’s running out too quickly, all the time caught up in working, reading, playing, watching. Too much of what I’m doing lately is too meaningful – what happened to fucking around, or fucking off, or even plain old fucking up? I need to walk around more, need to waste more time on things that matter in less direct ways. I need to talk to more strangers, show up more often uninvited, see more new things from odd angles. I need to remember how to talk to people, how to seek them out and make plans rather than idle chitchat upon running into them on the street. There’s the creeping realization that I’ve spent so much time among professional adults I may be going native, the thought of which, when I can stop long enough to have it, is terrifying. Is it too late now, a month and four days from turning twenty-four, for a New Year’s resolution not to be too old too soon? Yes. But there is a day job writing video games, and a hard drive full of pop music, and a little more than half full a bottle of wine left. That should do nicely as a stopgap in the meantime.