I paid to skip the queue and still got dry lines. Ping looked like hope. Statement looked like warning. Company should not need a subscription.
Tag: money
It was one box. It was mine. I would have said yes if you asked. Instead I come home hungry and start a proper grudge.
Sometimes it means he has sense. Dinner with a stranger is tax. Meet, clock the vibe, then spend. A cheap soul shows later, not first.
Same number waiting. Still I open the app again. Hope is a stupid habit. So is thinking some random transfer is about to appear tonight.
I can calculate it in a second. Asking for it is the bit that shrinks me. Pride and rent should not share a table anyway.
Date night maths in this city is unhinged. We sat down already behind. London charges you for arriving. Then it charges you for leaving too.
Drinks, cab, extra pizza, the top I did not need. My maths degree arrives far too late, usually only after the card has already gone.
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.
Times, trains, whose house after. I look organised. I am just frightened of being left in a doorway with nowhere to put this tired face.
I stand there doing maths like it is romance. London will charge you for lunch and still call it a deal. I laugh. I pay.