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⠀ theyre sayin tartt’s the best of the best, that there isn't another player capable of his feats, that he’s, like.. the one direction of footie. all 5 of 'em, that’s how good jamie is.
and he will care very much about this
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y'should follow me. ( he's puffed with pride, cheeks the soft flushed red of a self-esteem well maintained. jamie fishes his phone from his trousers, making a show out of each small movement. ⠀
roy says he could be an actor
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he has a head so full.
the other can mutually ignore the almost empty battery and the small white ̔4%’ inside of it. ⠀ jamie is, at least, as he points at each little photo preview he deems worthy of attention. )
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( makes a noise at that- ⠀ and then again, ⠀ just because he likes the sound of his own voice as it fills the silence. he likens himself to a god in his own right. ⠀ he'd be the kinda god blokes like bug and his dad
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would pray to. ⠀ king of the pitch. new york’s wee manchester boy finds his pride, ⠀ next week’s headline’s gonna say, ⠀ churches built in his name. he's a bit excited thinking about it. they're gonna build a statue in his name
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