Read Online The Hipster From Outer Space (The Hipster Trilogy Book 1) by Luke Kondor - Free Book Online

any kind. Without a script of any kind. Literally with nothing but his pants, the actor took the stage area of the East Bank Park in Shoreditch last Saturday afternoon. There were no props to hide behind. No excessive atmospheric music to conceal the mistakes. Not even an understudy. Just a man with a beard.
    He launched into a rendition of a play I’ve never even heard of. I can only assume that it was written by the man himself. Here’s my interpretation:
    A lonely pitiful extra-terrestrial has been dropped on the planet Earth to study humankind and has decided that their nature is one of cruelty with war, famine, and corrupt government systems being allowed to run riot. As such, the lonely alien is pleading with his peers to let him leave the planet.
    It was a beautiful social satire exploring that nature of humanity and what it means to be an outsider looking in.
    Yes, the plot was little ludicrous, but that wasn’t the point. For this play, you needed to read between the lines, listen between the words, and smell between the spaces.
    And it did tread the line between hackneyed and experimental brilliance, but with a winning performance by the anonymous actor it was all tied together in a wonderful package.
    There will be critics who will say that the production was lacklustre, empty, and void of all preparation, but screw them I say, we’ve just witnessed the birth of a new form of realism in theatre, one that I think will sweep the capital and will sprout copycats all over.
    I for one can’t wait to see what’s in store for this promising character.

    5/5,
    Leslie Jessup,
    Oh My What A London Day It Is.



Hannah Birkin

    HANNAH AWOKE IN A SWEATY mess. Naked. Her entire body under the covers. Even her face was cloaked in the blue and white striped bed covers.
    She sat up, dropping the covers down to her shoulders and looked around the bedroom. Still no sign of Simon.
    It felt like he was forever an inch out of view, like if she could just swing her head around, or her arm fast enough, she might graze his skin with her fingers or catch a glimpse of his shoulder, but he was trapped behind her. His breath was on her neck and the warmth of his naked skin against hers. But he wasn’t there. Just the empty hole where he should’ve been.
    Even his stuff was gone — his clothes, cologne, books, everything. Like he’d never existed. His smell, or the lack thereof, cut a Simon-shaped hole in her existence.  
    She smelled the takeaway curry from the night before: chicken tikka masala. Garlic naan. Spicy poppadoms. A can of Coke. A guilty pleasure. Her taste buds still sizzled.
    That was a meal she was going to have to run off at some point. Along with all the others. She’d been having a lot of cheat meals recently and hadn’t exercised at all. Not since Simon left.  
    The calendar hanging from the wall said it was Thursday.
    She lifted her grey dressing gown from the bedroom floor and wrapped herself in it. The wooden floor felt freezing against her bare feet. She used her sleeve to mop the sweat from her brow and made her way to the bathroom.  
    Hannah looked at herself in the mirror. At her sweaty blonde hair. At her reddened complexion. She wasn’t going to find a new Simon today, she thought.  
    On the bathroom sink there was a single empty glass — just the one toothbrush inside.  
    When she turned the shower on she had to turn it all the way to cold. Any warmer and the water made her dizzy.
    This was how most days started for Hannah since she’d gone freelance. Writing copy for websites. Which meant she worked her own hours. And since Simon had vanished into thin air and she’d started what she was calling ‘The Recovery’, she’d worked as little as possible. Starting at noon. Finishing at three.  
    ‘The Recovery’ was her intended healing time. Imagine, after a year and a half of living with your partner. A steady relationship. Easy-going. The odd argument about cleaning and whatnot, but nothing