She doesn’t know. He texted me after their row. I went round. It was messy and good and I am a terrible friend. Will probably tell her when it makes a better story.
Tag: socialite
I Slept With My Photographer
He said the light was better at his. It wasn’t. The pictures were though. I posted two. Cropped his face.
Champagne Then The Ugly Truth
Girls’ night started classy. Ended with who slept with whose almost-boyfriend in May. I didn’t start it. I just didn’t stop it. That’s different, innit.
Dalston Kitchen At Someone’s Mate’s
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.
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.