Three girls in a cubicle at 4am swapping who they’d just left in the main room. Names, positions, who came, who didn’t. I wrote it down in Notes. Gold.
Tag: afterparty
Afters With No Speakers
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.
Last Tube Then Walked
Missed it on purpose because he lived in Bermondsey and the night wasn’t finished. Blisters, a stolen espresso martini in a plastic cup, and a sunrise I will absolutely post.
Toilet Stall At The Standard
Queue outside, his hand over my mouth, my back against the cistern. Lipstick everywhere. Walked out like nothing happened and ordered another dirty martini.
I Went Back For Keys
Left them in his jacket on purpose. Went back at noon looking wrecked on purpose. He made coffee. I took the keys and a photo of his bookshelf for the blog. Efficient.
House Party Ended At Breakfast
Someone put porridge on. Someone else was still naked. I wrote half the piece on my notes app between bites.
The Cloakroom Was Not Empty
Thought we’d been clever. We hadn’t. Some girl from Putney was already in there crying into a coat. I still finished the story. She can write her own.
Anal In The Back Of Uber
Rain on the windows, driver pretending not to notice. I was already wet from the club. He asked, I said yes. We didn’t even make it to his door.
The Landlord Texted About Noise
At 4:12. I replied at 4:13 with a heart emoji. He has not followed up. Coward.
Roof Terrace At Four
Someone’s friend-of-a-friend had access. No licence, just speakers and a view of the City looking cheap. I danced like the content was already posted. It wasn’t. Yet.