It’s 10pm in a pub in Angel. The floor is sticky, the windows are fogged up. Its 10 days til Christmas and the place is packed out with twenty somethings looking to rub up against each other in the name of not going home alone.
I, on the other hand, am three (bottles of) wines deep and in a well of self-pity. I am 24, totally batshit-bonkers-in-love and the object of my affection, my boyfriend, is ignoring my messages. Savage.