Comment by Handprint4469

Everyone with an imagination is dead inside. Dead. Inside. But it's not so bad, they don't want to bite you, and there are a few living still out there; I reckon a couple of thousand in London. We recognise each-other and give a nod or a raise of the eyebrow, then back into the crowds of the undead stumbling along daydreaming about celebrity's dinners or whatever the fuck it is they find so compelling ...