Fear and Loathing in South London

What is the point in worrying about anything?

I have a fear, now that I am back in London, of violence, and feel surprisingly vulnerable when poncing down th streets, pushing my glasses back up against my nose and flicking my hair away from my face.

But why is this?

The bubble of living in university accommodation has burst, and so now I remain in my front room, hugging my television, attempting to enjoy the World Cup.

The answer is most likely to get a job and find a small solution to one's laziness and wandering of the mind by giving oneself a small target of eight hours a day to work and pleasure the graft-part of the heart.

Worrying is a useless trait, it becomes problematic when toying with caution. One should be cautious to a certain degree, but there is a thin, grey line between over-preparation and caution, which creates fear and defeats the object of vitality and basic civilised existence.