Remember Me?

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Of all the crap, crap, crappy nights I’ve ever had in the whole of my crap life.

On a scale of one to ten we’re talking…a minus six. And it’s not like I even have very high standards.

Rain spatters down my collar as I shift from one blistered foot to the other. I’m holding my denim jacket over my head as a makeshift umbrella, but it’s not exactly waterproof. I just want to find a taxi, get home, kick off these stupid boots, and run a nice hot bath. But we’ve been waiting here for ten minutes and there’s no sign of a cab.

My toes are agony. I’m never buying shoes from Cut-Price Fashion again. I bought these boots last week in the sale (flat black patent; I only ever wear flats). They were half a size too small, but the girl said they would stretch and that they made my legs look really long. And I believed her. Honestly, I’m the world’s biggest sucker.

We’re all standing together on the corner of some street in southwest London that I’ve never been to before, with music pounding faintly from the club below our feet. Carolyn’s sister is a promoter and got us discounted entry, so that’s why we schlepped all the way here. Only now we have to get home, and I’m the only one even looking for a cab.

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