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.
Tag: solitude
The performance drops in the back seat. I replay the look I should have left on. Call it a good night. Mean it halfway, barely.
London is useful for that mood. Pavement, pace, no eye contact at all. You can finish a whole private argument before the next packed overground.
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.