Back home I am too late for dinner, so I sit down at the kitchen table and stare at the leftovers I found in the microwave. I throw them in the bin and make some instant black coffee instead. I like our kitchen’s impersonal feel, …show more content…
I needed to escape my embarrassment as well as another vacant and redundant scenario I already know too well. I grabbed a half-emptied wine bottle on my way out that must have been part of the catering. I try to laugh, too, now, or at least to get drunk. The fresh air is compromised by the drizzle, the wine feels acidic in my throat, and instead of bringing haze, it demands honesty: I can still get drunk on two sips, my hair is about to melt into clammy dreadlocks, I cannot wear any clothes that would show the shape of my body, and I am fed up with all of this. I search my bag, it is sewn of two pieces of carpet, a hippie remnant I bought at a flea market because I thought Neele or Rainer would like it. I find mirror and make-up, and apply yet another coat of mascara, to make my lashes even more spidery. I grimace at my reflection, then I shut the