It’s when the weirdos come out There is a particular hour on the Night Tube where you can tell exactly who everyone was three hours ago. Not from their faces. From the evidence. Mascara at midnight. Work badge in the…
Tag: weekend
Bags by the door, uniform waiting, that low familiar dread. Even if the weekend was messy, the Monday reset feels like being marched straight back.
Mascara at midnight, work badge in the same bag. This city watches you switch lives in one carriage and nobody comments. That is the mercy.
Bins, money, whose turn, why the hallway smells. Nobody booked a meeting. The kitchen just becomes court and I sit in last night’s makeup still.
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.
We looked tight in the picture. On the platform it went quiet. That is the comedown. The story goes on the grid. Silence comes home.