I’ve noticed ‘Headey herey’ in repeated form is the peculiar but regular and quite effective way that magazine designers/art people alert their fellow sub-editors that they must come up with a headline to encapsulate the spirit of the article in question. Or just type in something that fits.
I witnessed a truly unpleasant – and wildly unrelated – version of this phrase at 6.30 yesterday morning.
Almost immediately after my wake-up call, I heard a muffled but urgent conversation in Lois Lane – another one. Working-girl sex, I figured. But no…
They were in their early twenties, both male. I witnessed them preparing some sort of drug (I didn’t hover, that bit’s always prolonged and tedious) but when I checked again to see if they were still there as I was ready to head to work a half an hour later, they were both clearly wired, irretrievably flaccid and furiously, pointlessly trying to get off. Lots of head-bobbing and frantic limp dick-tugging; a tragic puppet show.
It was far too depressing to photograph.
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1 comment:
performance tart.
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