If you rush I stay in my head fixing my face. Give me a minute to get stupid. That is when it gets good both.
Tag: makeup
Crisps on the bed, playlist up, someone doing a full face. We swear we are being sensible. Then the first round happens and plans die.
Hair done, smirk on, playlist in both ears. By the door I am Els. The flat sees the other one applying the whole bloody face.
It’s when the weirdos come out There is a particular hour on the Night Tube where you can tell exactly who everyone was three hours ago. Not from their faces. From the evidence. Mascara at midnight. Work badge in the…
Mirror app, bad light, someone watching. That is the commute. Warehouse to a night out, carriage as dressing room. This city gives you no pause.
Lipstick, voice note, a photo of him at the bar. Safety plan plus a rating. Nights out run on intel. The queue is real chat.
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.
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.
No name talk. No job talk. No story about the week. Just a dark room and a warm body that does not need a biography.
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.