Brenda was smart. She had several piercings in her face, but no-one pierced her heart. We met at a flat in Balsall Heath and talked shit about Weimar German art. She liked James Bond, but I said I couldn’t quite get on with the way he got on, it felt like something was always on-the-verge-of-being-wrong.
Dino had style. He called himself a bastard and he said that he was vile, but I could see a beauty in his soul when he would smile. He would chain blunts, remaining lucid like the blurring of his mind was just a stunt, and people-watching on the balcony with him was always such a lot of fun.
Leah and Jack. It’s hard to talk about their love with enough tact. Always very sensitive and always wary that you’d talk of them behind their backs. Sometimes shy, when she would get excited he would look up to the sky, thank something he believed in for the chance to be here with her and not even have to try. I liked them, I think, but I never really knew them – no heart-to-hearts over the kitchen sink, one blink and they’d be gone at the end of the night, but at the end of the night that sort of thing is alright.
I held it down, imposter in a dressing gown, knocking back scotch with them and critiquing the sounds of the Youtube disco, the beat-up 1970s stereo, the party downstairs that you could hear if you stood to smoke by the window.
I didn’t love them much, and now that all that’s dead I’m sure that I’ll forget them in a rush. I never felt quite comfortable with them, be it drinking on the bus or talking about Jemima’s latest crush. I used to pretend, but functions decreased and now I’m better off just sitting on the sofa, waiting for the end.