Past Midnight
Sitting in my flatmate’s bedroom, typing away on short articles for her online mag, some of us leaning out of the window smoking, all of us sipping some red wine. The air outside is warm, unseasonably warm for the time of year. Thom Yorke’s solo album is playing, filling the gaps in our chatter. There are no sounds from the road outside the window, no traffic and no people.
The Irish girl who’s visiting is showing her captain’s hat she got in the charity shop underneath where she lives. It suits her quirky features.
I should probably sleep but it’s just too chilled to go to bed just yet.