Sat in the place we first met, I write this dishevelled, rain soaked note. Pain and anger, I can’t stand it. My jittering hand clasps a glass of ice, whiskey, two slices limes and I shudder under my damp clothing. I can’t stand this. My jaw is aching, my limbs are clenched, the bartender is watching me now. Fuck. I can’t stop my limbs shaking. And now everyone is looking whilst I stare into the past.
– 15.09 M. Rose