A walk is never just a walk. Travel, outfit, time off the rota. Casual is a lie London tells so nobody notices the standing order.
Good coat, dead eyes, fashion week spillover on a Tuesday. Then the doors open and we are all just late. Glamour had a time limit.
Do not guess like you are brave. Ask. Then do it like you meant the answer. Confidence is listening with your hands still on me.
Water and a check in are not deluxe. They are basic. If you can take your clothes off you can ask if I got home.
Bins, money, whose turn, why the hallway smells. Nobody booked a meeting. The kitchen just becomes court and I sit in last night’s makeup still.
He buys oat milk and never contributes to wifi. I did not advertise for a third flatmate with a hoodie and opinions about the remote.
She says it is casual. We still clock shoes, job, whether he rinsed a mug. This flat runs checks. Nobody asked. We do them anyway.
He wants a number so he can decide if I am allowed. Count the men who stayed kind. That figure tells more than a tally.
Anyone can copy a move. Fewer check my face. The ones I keep thinking about did not perform. They paid attention and then stayed human.
I can hear the message being recorded next door. Then it pings my phone. We live six feet apart and still perform distance like strangers.