Nobody believes us, least of all ourselves. Quick ones turn into last trains and a messy little story I will edit at work Monday morning.
Category: Nights Out
Habit from years of it. Where the door is. Who I came with. How I get home. Then I ignore it for one last look.
If it is easy, I stay out. If I am bored in twenty minutes, I should leave. I rarely leave. That is always the problem.
I know the night bus exists. My feet know it too. Sometimes I pay the stupid fare so I do not think until I get home.
We looked tight in the picture. On the platform it went quiet. That is the comedown. The story goes on the grid. Silence comes home.