Clubbing, drinking, smoking, short skirts, fried food, Facebook, smart phones. There’s hardly any room for romance anymore. This is not exactly the best love story you have ever heard.
Millie walked home alone. She insisted. She wanted to stroll. She wanted to smoke. She wanted to walk along the pebbles barefoot with her heels tucked under her arm. She had spent all night with Jim. There was nothing romantic about it. They met in Brighton’s dirtiest club, Digital. They had just chosen one another to rub up against. They went on to Pascha, a small club full of Turkish men, that’s open till eight am. To sober up they stumbled down to a café on the front, Buddies, for a full English breakie.
The alcohol is starting to wear off. I think he is good looking, I can’t remember. I can hardly make out his features now. I will look him up on Facebook as soon as I get home. That reminds me I need to charge my iPhone.
Oh! I didn’t get his number!
I’m sure he’ll ‘add’ me.
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