No map, no group chat, no cab app. Just mascara and hope. A dead battery is how a cute night turns into a survival plot.
Tag: clubbing
Club lighting lies. Your flat does not. Someone wants one more and I want my bed. I stay anyway and edit that story later on.
The performance drops in the back seat. Makeup in the window. Feet wrecked. I replay the exit I missed and still call it fun anyway.
The performance drops in the back seat. I replay the look I should have left on. Call it a good night. Mean it halfway, barely.
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.