stories from the city, ditto from the sea

here's a shtory. so i get to massi's place. this is written in the 'vivid' present. please note.
and he is balling his girl so i run away (aptly enough, i am clutching a book called 'mortification')
and then i go back after a suitable interval (massi? 2.5 minutes) no but i go to have a beer and read the filthy daily express and my book and come back (not so much) and then ravis and 'louis' are there so we drink a car-ling and go with massi and his 'gee-eff' to an absurdly expensive little jazz place (ten fucking pounds to get in) on greek street and listen to a friend of 'louis' playing sax.
they eat, i smoke, and then in walks a chavsta and massi says hey kids, isn't that amy winehouse so i ask her and she comes over and perches on a stool and she wants me. i think because ravi said i was a writer.

that is all, this is her.