A box sits in the hall like a hostage. We all walk past it. Someone ordered something filthy or expensive, waiting for an empty house.
Tag: rent
It is always damp and in the wrong rack. Shared gadgets turn grown women into detectives. I want my tray. I want my dignity back.
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.
Someone muted the house chat mid row. Now we communicate through cupboard doors and passive tea making. Modern flatshare conflict is just delivered on silent.
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.
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.
Kettle on, someone half dressed, my cereal in the crossfire. I live here. I work early. Your new friend does not need any kitchen tours.
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.