The night bus felt like a confession booth. I told a stranger what I’d just done. He said “safe”. Very London.
Tag: warehouse
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.
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.
Peckham Roof At Sunrise
Someone’s speaker dying. Someone’s shirt as a blanket. I had mascara on only one eye and still felt like the main character.