they should have a shrugging smiley

disappointment is colourless and odourless, quite expensive (15 quid entry, lots of working time wasted in excited anticipation), and makes you do insane things (phone calls; i fucking DELETED the number finally). yet, if you're lucky enough to have a friend nearby, who understands disappointment, and sees it as a simple little thing, rather than a huge motherfucking ego hassle, you may get a warm pat on the pack, and the crook of an arm to tuck your hand into, when you walk on the South Bank in most inappropriate shoes, reluctant to cut your losses and call it a night.

oh, and i'm disappointed basically because EVERYBODY ditched me of a Friday night. almost everybody. i guess i wasn't pimping a worthy enough cause. or maybe i'm not popular enough to be a brand ambassador for charity yet. or maybe nobody loves me.