London was very unpredictable. West was one of those places. You couldn't sleep at night thinking things would be calm — as a regular civilian you have to be alert. A regular morning where I just wanted to sit in my own superior solitude, drink a cup of coffee and entertain myself with a few episodes of Baddies West was how I kept my sanity and my own personal security.
Ofcourse, God seemed to have an issue with that. As a random donny is now throwing up in my toilet.
I wince at the harsh vomiting sounds, hoping he's aiming directly into the bowl so I don't have to clean a fucking thing up. 'Cause hell no. My eyes train their focus on the rhythmic water droplets jumping off of my coffee cup sitting on the drying rack. I downed it very quickly, not wanting to deal with whatever this is with no caffeine in my system. The droplets themselves seem to mock me; they were able to get out of their situation... it seems as though I was being trapped.
I mean, I would say I'm confused. I'm allowed to be confused, right? A random guy comes into my home and throws a wad of cash at me, then ducks into my bathroom to be sick? Dressed in a grey tracksuit but with a black headband I knew could turn into a balaclava with a swift pulling motion by the hand. One of the guys I spent my whole life working to get away from. In my home.
