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.
Tag: transport
Date night maths in this city is unhinged. We sat down already behind. London charges you for arriving. Then it charges you for leaving too.
One good evening and everyone acts like we made it here. Then the tube is a greenhouse and I remember all of the usual moaning.
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.