My Date With Daddy Warbucks

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.

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?”

Meeting boys in Paris

“This has to be the wrong address.” 

Look down at google, then back up at the place.

No, it is right. 

Fabulous.

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…

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.

Life After Uni

Even though I’m not a model/activist, I know a thing or two about depression. I mean, I’m sure everyone has experienced it at some point, and if you haven’t, no matter how many times you’ve read ‘The Secret”, you will. (spoiler alert) 

I graduated from Chelsea College of Art this year and I clocked halfway through the course that I didn’t want to be a painter. It wasn’t an epiphanic thing, more that I became increasingly terrified of becoming like Rufus Humphrey (not really having a job but just being around a lot of exposed brick). I’m not slandering artists or saying that they’re all destined to be poor, I just wasn’t loved up enough on painting to pursue it against the odds.