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.
Tag: money
If it is easy, I stay out. If I am bored in twenty minutes, I should leave. I rarely leave. That is always the problem.
I feel flush one stupid evening. The app opens and the glow dies. Hope is not a budget. It is a hobby I cannot even afford.
It makes my mouth small straight away. I would rather stay in than do that dance. Pride is expensive. So is pretending I am fine.
Uber. Bar. A name I will not save. I sat at work hoping nobody asked. Being skint makes romance feel like a secret little purchase.
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.
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.
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.
Lip, coat, nails, bus. Nobody has to know the account. This city reads surfaces first. I give it a surface that looks like proper winning.