The Crossed Line (Part 1)

It was a hot summers evening along Portobello Road and I was in the hair salon. I was fretting about switching up my signature iced-blonde look for a more natural one and I could feel pools of sweat forming as I sat on that leather chair in my Adidas shorts. I was so paranoid thatContinue reading “The Crossed Line (Part 1)”

You Asked For It

Words: Anna Sampson Make-up and visuals: Nina Pezeshkian I didn’t fancy Mike. He wasn’t my type; for one he’s blonde and though he once had a rugby player-like charm back in the day, now looked shabby and slightly unwell. His best mate is called Reuben. Reuben was a boy who was so good looking whenContinue reading “You Asked For It”

Corona Diary: Pt 1

Lockdown has been interesting. For someone who ordinarily finds it hard to get out of bed, this has been a challenge.  Here’s some stuff that’s happened thus far…

The Garden

Has been abandoned since my Mom left. 

The grey cement slates unrecognisable with algae and weeds that clung to it for dear life and the potted plants shrivelled as if to say “Thanx for nothing”. With all this spare time on my hands I thought, ‘enough is enough’, and found a new hobby in gardening, (aka taking my anger out on a shovel whilst listening to Meghan Thee Stallion.) 

A Night at Boiler Room

This was my first time at Boiler Room.

If it wasn’t clear enough I asked the person who invited me:

“Where is this Boiler Room event then?”

“At Boiler Room Studios?”

Surviving a Shit Show: Pt 2

Needless to say I wasn’t killed in a satanic ritual. (read pt 2 here)

Instead, Black Hair and I were kissing on the stairwell outside his grandparent’s flat.
Each kiss left me dizzy and I was waiting for it to get boring but it never did, so I reached for his belt to unbuckle but he swatted me away.

At 6am, as I was leaving, he remarked:

“I have blue balls.”
On the Uber ride home I wondered if he was gay, or if he wanted to take things “slow” which is pretty much the same thing.

Surviving a Shit Show

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.