No map, no group chat, no cab app. Just mascara and hope. A dead battery is how a cute night turns into a survival plot.
Tag: taxis
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.
Nobody believes us, least of all ourselves. Quick ones turn into last trains and a messy little story I will edit at work Monday morning.
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.