I wonder do you ever get to manage listings sleek
as that, Ava?
Well,
if this flat that we rent from you is anything
to go by – no.
I may be trapped in the eternal off-white quagmire
of chipped ply, rising damp, and dodgy curtain rails,
but so are you, I think, Ava.
It was around that time a lecturer handed
me a book as I was leaving class.
Read this, he said.
I read the blurb when I got home – a teacher becomes
obsessed with his new student and they begin a doomed
affair.
I left it on my shelf unread –
I just could not be
fucked, Ava, to lift that veil,
transparent as it was already.
He never mentioned it again.
If you’re feeling short-changed by this one, Ava, I agree.
It’s not like me to let the waters of desire
trickle past undrunk – but his approach was so risk-free,
so non-committal…
Nah.
You’ll never find a teacher-student situation in my
search history, Ava.
Yawnsville.
Hey – that would be a great name for a
company if Molly’s boyfriend ever started making porn.
Post bunting installation the parties that we threw
at Girl House didn’t work.
No one mingled. You couldn’t see who else
was there.
People danced within their separate
coloured fabric walls, got bored, and left.
Also, if the girls were on the sofa chatting
and I walked into the room they wouldn’t know that I was
there unless I made a noise – cleared my throat or
something.
I snuck up on them a few times accidentally which made
