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.
Tag: confidence
Mascara at midnight, work badge in the same bag. This city watches you switch lives in one carriage and nobody comments. That is the mercy.
Do not just grunt and hope for the best. Tell me it is good. Tell me where. Quiet men make me bored and over perform.
People love a girl who is easy to plan around. I have taste. I have a body. Wanting both respected is not me being difficult.
Anyone will touch me in the dark. Fewer will hold my hand by the bus stop. That gap tells me more than those late texts.
New lip, decent coat, nails done before the shift. Nobody has to know the account. Looking costly is the cheapest kind of rich available really.
It is a trick. If I look busy and shiny, rejection cannot land. Then I am on the sofa checking he viewed the story again.
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.
Warehouse face off, night face on, sometimes both in one single day. This city lets you be two people if your makeup bag keeps up.
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.