The fleece Mark was wearing was something I would’ve bought from Camden Lock market when I was 12. Its garish yellow and blue flowers felt luminescent against the grey sky that was raining, hard and even the dogs wearing strange, green glow stick-like collars, looked normal in comparison. I hated the fact I was soContinue reading “Flip of the Script”
“You’re good at endings” were the last words he texted me.
He was referring to the article that I had just sent him.
Ollie and I “met” on Hinge at the beginning of lockdown. From the get go he said he was a fan of my writing, and I said I was a fan of his band. He was the “ha. Yeah.” kind of guy via text which was jarring initially, but soon we discovered we had a lot in common, which prompted him to be so bold as to say “I think we may be soul mates.” Our first “date” was watching the same film at the same time, texting throughout. I had a Perrier bottle propped up against a pillow as him, and he had a sharpie drawn face on a coke zero bottle as me. Then a few weeks later, he suggested we go on a walk. I was terrified! What if we weren’t compatible? When he suggested he drop-off a pizza at mine that Sunday I decided to feel the fear and do it anyway.
John had brown black eyes that looked like they belonged on one of
the small toys you get on a keychain that’s an animal but you can’t quite pin point what kind.
I took no time to say “You have big eyes” which in my mind warranted
staring into them most of the night.
His hair was a brown blunt cut which was awkward and he knew it, hiding it in a beanie and when he took it off he’d tousle it and then tuck it behind his ears.
“This has to be the wrong address.”
Look down at google, then back up at the place.
No, it is right.
LE PALACE CLUB
We’re outside an old theatre, with three weird men outside,
who all look like ex cons.
Reluctantly we enter the hallway,
which looks like it’s seen no action since the 1920s.
Go down some steps and open two heavy black doors to find…
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.