The night bus felt like a confession booth. I told a stranger what I’d just done. He said “safe”. Very London.
Tag: hackney
Ended up in a warehouse kitchen in Hackney Wick, twelve people, one Bluetooth dying, someone’s Deliveroo arriving at 6am. I still call it a party. Sophie calls it a cry for help.
Someone put porridge on. Someone else was still naked. I wrote half the piece on my notes app between bites.
No one knew whose flat it was by 5am. There were fairy lights and a chopping board used as a tray. I made toast for a stranger.