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girls from class were looking for someone to move in

with them.

I didn’t say goodbye to him – just slipped

out once he’d left for work. He never called or texted to

ask why, or where –

our time was but a blip, Ava!

I do think of it warmly, though,

or tepidly at least.

He was distant, sure –

he tolerated me – got angry if I made the slightest

noise or mess – but here’s the thing, Ava – I wanted to

be small and soulless for a bit,

and honestly, I even liked the sex.

Pummelled flat, face down

tugged under, tossed about, mouth full of salt and

sand… Poseidon, is that you old friend?

A lovely flatline of a summer.

And all the concrete dirty-talk was kind of hot

once you got into it –

volumetric         asphalt         reinforced

Is there letting agent dirty-talk, Ava?

Are you a cosy one-bed? Bet you are.

Bet we could jam another occupant or two in

at a push…

Anyway,

I saw this girl from class say that they needed

someone to move in last minute and that was it –

I jumped ship –

swam off to Girl House like the little rat I was.

I am.

Girl House.

Six of us in one big terraced home –

the biggest bedroom that I’ve ever had – a chest

of drawers, a mirror leaning up against the wall, a bed,

and nothing else except the bare magnolia, big sash

window, great expanse of what was once green carpet,

faded to a brownish grey.

I liked those girls, Ava,

but they already had a friendship formed in

first year – anecdotes of freshers’ week, of club nights,

Are sens

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