We’re on a cobbled, narrow street in the 6th arrondissement, and either he’s trying to race me, or lose me.
In any case, he looks like a fucking show off.
He finally clocks I’m not beside him and turns around, only to locate me four feet behind, wedged between a pram and a man with a walking stick.
This year was a pretty uneventful year in terms of men, which was great.
It meant that for the most part, I wasn’t complaining to my friends and constantly checking my phone for messages.
I did go on a date with a guy who was cute in a dishevelled way, who I had had a horrible crush on for three years.