Talking about buttholes with my friends is something we do on a regular basis. That, or arguing about how leftist we all are, while also middle-class university-educated-charity-workers, while also from working-class exiled families, and gay, and disabled.
The table is sticky, the air is wet. The outside of our glasses are, somehow, both sticky and wet. The sky was pink earlier. Now it's turning into some sort of purple-y indigo, soon navy blue. I hate the army. My comrades hate them too. We also happen to be hostile towards the Salvat*on Army. Did you know how transphobic they were? Wankers. We're laughing too much. We're smoking too much. We're drinking too much. One of us nearly choke, let's bring some water and calm the fuck down children.
Some random people joined our conversation. All because we asked them for a lighter. They stink of gentrification. This smells of the 'the area is so diverse it's lovely, but it could be safer with more police presence' coming of their vegan wool coat, that makes you tense your nose. Everyone can probably hear how much my teeth are grinding. I'm out of this discussion. Don't have time for that. Actually no, I want them to leave. Could you please, O my lord, stop planning on destroying the area where my future children will live?
I miss my home town. Everyone was a communist back there and there was no libdem to throw off my groove. I am feeling melancholic all of a sudden, it's probably the rosé. Soon, we're the last ones standing in the beer garden. It's quiet and sad. We could go 'out out', or go home and drink chamomiles I say. Chamomile won tonight. Woop woop. Of course, she did. It's passed 10pm, it's bedtime.
The heat of our mismatched mugs burns our fingers. Mine says 'Be yourself or Be-yoncé". So. Funny. I love it. I wonder who gave me that? I probably bought it myself. Chestnut is judging us, or scolding us, or might be happy to see us. We will never know. The main thing we can understand from her is meow meow meow. Which we agree with. She's probably just hungry.
Moist. Slightly warm. Then colder, then warm again. Disturbing my nostrils. My eyes manage, not without a fight, to finally open up and attempt to figure out where does this discomforting smelly breeze is coming from. It appears to be the consequences of too much ale mixed with menthol tobacco. That's what I was. My sweet life-partner is snoring their hangover in my face. Adorable. I forgive them. Or not. What time is it? Too early to feel guilty about waking up too late to enjoy the day.
Somehow, Chestnut realised I was no longer asleep and jumped on my left foot, hurrying to head-bump my cheek aggressively. I missed you too baby girl. But I need to pee. Where are my slippers? Socks will do for now. It is so cold in this country. Let's grab a jumper too. The wall, my hand. I nearly fell. Looks like I, too, didn't pace myself last night. Naughty girl. Good thing I wasn't planning to cross anything off my to-do list today.
My boxers seem to have a hole in them. A responsible adult would probably bin them. Good thing for them, that would require me too much effort. I grabbed the elastic band and pulled them back up. Meanwhile, Chestnut was still busy telling me all the adventures she had had during the night. Apparently, she saved us from an invasion of green translucid giraffes, a very common thing in our neighbourhood. I pressed my finger on the flush. She froze, then disappeared, terrorised. Yes, of course, toilet flushes are scarier than green giraffes.
I should probably make myself a tea before heading back to bed. The kettle is so loud. I should've put trousers on. The cold is bitting the bottom parts of my naked body. Which tea do I want? I forgot we had croissants! I love croissants. One sugar for the table and one sugar in my cup, that was totally planned. Now, milk. Finding the strength to bend our knees without falling over is a challenge, but if we can manage it then we could pretend we exercised today. Congratulations, there is a bottle in this fridge. Unfortunately, no milk actually left in the bottle. Oh well, like sucks. I already knew that. Let's pretend we appreciate black tea.
