I can hear the message being recorded next door. Then it pings my phone. We live six feet apart and still perform distance like strangers.
Tag: rent
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.
Uniform on the chair. Alarm set. The weekend already feels fictional. London does not let you keep Friday night. It wants you back in pieces.
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.
No eye contact. Fast feet. A whole argument finished before my stop. This city is rude and useful. It lets you disappear while staying public.
Same kitchen. Same oat milk. Then a rose on the app. The house became an incubator with worse lighting. I shut the fridge, considered leaving.