“Under the spreading chestnut tree / I sold you and you sold me – -”

Winston still sits in his corner, peering into his empty glass, thinking of Julia and not thinking of her, from moment to moment.

“All you care about is yourself,” she said. And he agreed. True of them both. Memories are fleeting now and the memories themselves are only things to be mistrusted. Truth, after all, is relative.

2 + 2 =

But, love? Ah, love. Love is something different. What he and Julia felt for one another. It was not love. He understands that now. He remembers her, even now, dark and bright. Black and red. She is wandering through the streets, picking her way through the party members, severed from Winston forever. And he from her.

What do we know of love, anyway? Only that we all love Big Brother, now. Finally.

Available in both light and dark. Naturally.

Victory gin never tasted so good.

Bourgeois Fountain Pens is now open for business (albeit in a haphazard manner). Patronage and loitering are both appreciated here.

Bourgeois Fountain Pens is in beta as we roll this thing out. Please ignore for the time being.

Appreciate it.