Driver clocked me from last Thursday’s drop-off in Dalston and asked if I was going back to the same block. I wasn’t. Still tipped him. He’ll tell someone.
Tag: saturday
She Cried In The Smoking Area
Not me. The girl whose boyfriend was inside with his hand on my waist. I gave her a cigarette. I’m not a monster.
I Told The Truth At Brunch
They asked how my Saturday was. I said I went home with a man whose name I still don’t have. Eggs went cold.
We Compared Notes In The Kitchen
Mia’s boy versus mine. Timing, stamina, whether they asked for water after. Scientific. Petty. Necessary.
I Kept His Lighter
Not as a trophy. As proof I didn’t invent him. Sophie asked why there’s a clipper on the windowsill that isn’t ours. I said it was Mia’s. Mia said it was mine.
Shoreditch Rain Ruined The Dress
The white one. Of course the white one. He offered his jacket. I offered nothing back except a very wet anecdote.
Peckham Roof Was A Mistake
Beautiful at midnight. Tragic at 4am. Someone’s cousin DJ’d, the wine was warm, and I snogged a man whose name I still cannot spell. Classic, really.
Voice Note Hit The Group
Meant for Mia. Landed in the flat chat. Full recap of who did what in the disabled loo at Fabric. Sophie reacted with a single thumbs-down. Silence after that.
Members Club Then Sticky Floor
Started at 22. Ended in a basement where the floor pulled my heels off. That’s the London arc and I refuse to skip either half.
His Flatmate Walked In
We weren’t even mid-anything dramatic. Just talking too loud at 3am. The flatmate made tea, sat down, and asked if this was “a regular thing.” I said define regular. He left.