PLATFORMS ↛ D.A

Sunshine and Emotions

Downtown London | 07:32am

Text me. Text me. Fucking text me. Now tell me, if I was to say 'text me' to you - would you follow up? Most probably yes, unless of course you're a stuck-up grudge holding cunt called Damon. Harsh? Maybe. But that wasn't the point.

If it wasn't absolute fuck off hours in the morning Amelia would've made a point to ask at least a few Londoners this same question. It was valid but the time wasn't and she didn't quite fancy being in the firing lane for the grumpy men on their way to morning affairs while simultaneously texting their wife about the kids. What a life.

Maybe an affair with an older man would be funner than the current shit Amelia was living in. Yet, maybe not due to the dead conversations they would have - "So, what's Twitter?" Nah, you're alright.

When her and Liam had gotten back to their hotel it was a fucking riot. Glasses smashed, bed's broken (not in the good way) and many, many hurtful words had been exchanged. Funny thing, it technically wasn't even over Damon. Rather Liam and the woman who had brought up drinks for them.

Oh it was a state, she flirted - he flirted back and then Amelia had told him to do one, Liam comparing it to Damon and then before they knew it, the shitty glasses had been thrown to the wall and the bed was snapped in two from Liam continuously kicking at it, Amelia didn't know he had it in him to do that. The more you know.

But now. This morning, it was like looking at a crime scene with a fresh set of eyes. You know, smashed glass and blood across the floor due to Liam being a twat and putting his hand on the shattered glass, honestly he was not real. And to top it all off, he lay now looking half-dead in the bed that they had tried to put back together, shoving things under it to even it out and make it seem balanced.

It was only this morning that she had figured it looked like a bed from the aftermath of a porno but she couldn't be bothered dealing with Liam's half-arsed apologies over his aggression so she had upped and left, it was a scorcher of a day and she wasn't letting it go to waste. Nor was she going to work, same thing as a waste really isn't it?

If Amelia fell on that side of the tree then she would say London wasn't actually too bad when it had a bit of life to it, vitamin fucking D. The streets were livelier, the people - happier and it was a lot brighter. Let me tell you, it made a difference looking at the same shitty structures with a glint of sun against the millions of windows rather than rain slapping them.

Suddenly there was something to appreciate about the vertical tower that people wasted hours in, Amelia felt like Antoni Gaudi, see, the vision was there in Spain but maybe not London. Spain = fantastic fun buildings with sun, London = shit. No, not shit. Remember, we are turning a new leaf here. London wasn't that bad, just busy. Oh and the people- Stop.

She had found a spot on a bench, marvelling at her smoothie that cost a whopping £7.50. Overpriced? Yes. Good? Suppose. Parklife was something Amelia had no interest in becoming an avid spectator of but every now and then when she did find herself in a park it was fun to watch the different types of people. The runners, the mothers, the people who crawl out of the woodwork when it hits above 16° and the lads who found great pleasure in wearing shorts way too small for them. It was the ultimate people watching place. She wondered what she looked like to others, probably lonely. Brilliant.

Of course, upon 26 seconds of reflection, Amelia decided she didn't want to be sat on a bench alone with a fucking smoothie, and since Damon hadn't text her, she decided to text him. Sending a short and sweet type - 'Why didn't u text. Twat.' To Damon who had (unknown to her) received it but ignored it. He was dodging the day too, hiding away in the flat feeling sorry for himself with the excuse of a cut up face and a bleating headache from the poor quality joint he had finished off last night.