Boy Parts

They’re playing The Smiths, on purpose, in this post-racist-Morrissey economy. I mean, there’s an argument to be made that he’s been racist for fucking ages, and shit for even longer, and I don’t know why we’re all just deciding now that it’s bad

For the record: we were never cool for the summer. We were more… lukewarm for the September/October period.

This is also where I met Flo; where I caught the social equivalent of a nasty case of herpes, if you like.

I remember finding him very attractive at the time; though any man who pays attention to you, at that age, can transform from frog to prince in the time it takes to tell you he likes your hair.

He has a gap between his front teeth – his tongue winks through when he smiles at me. It’s awkward. I smile back, but I’m not good at smiling off-hand like this. I generally need more prep, a moment with a compact mirror to practise.

She liked Harry Styles a few years ago, and now she likes that white-bread, absolute fucking baguette of a lad from Call Me by Your Name.

Gluten is the literal devil,’

I respond with some emojis. Pizza, shrug, smiley, facepalm, sunshine. Interpret these glyphs how you will, Ryan.

the higher the hair, the closer to God, you know?

I wonder what the fuck I have to do for people to recognise me as a threat, you know?