Sunday, 19 January 2014


I had promised myself I would say yes to everything, so I left the bar with the Greek protest music still playing and followed the anarchists into the spill of the night.

Everyone around me was loose and lovely with booze, and when they handed me amaretto, I drank it. When they handed me korn, I slipped into the fugue.

The train was wider and brighter than anything London had to offer, and I thanked the stars I had found my feet to flee. I leant against the pole and thought of gallops. I thought of all of the places I had ever forgotten to go.

A. was plastering pink stickers across the walls of the train and the train was spinning around the tracks and the night felt like a secret we hadn’t told to anyone yet. I kept mum, I kept my teeth in my lips, I kept humming a song about horses.

Eventually, we reached the road. We started running from nothing and everything and each other, no smoke bombs behind us, just the wallop of feet on tarmac.

I told everyone to piss on discarded Christmas trees, then I crawled between their ankles so they were able to run.

At the intersection, S. became a pony. S. was all hooves and head tosses, gangling into the road. I nursed a crush on this city, this night, this life; all the things again & again.

It was monstrous that I had taken so long to get here. It was inexplicable that it would even matter. Everything was still to happen. We were all, forever, figuring it out.

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