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Friday, March 2

A Nightmare Out

Another exercise in writing. Read it if you can be arsed. It's a short essay on nothing.

The rain was hitting the bus shelter like tacks falling onto a metal tray. The cold wind whipped her naked legs and brought the misty atmosphere in. The driest place on the street was wet enough to soak what little in the way of clothing she had on. This had not been a good night out. When she was putting on her clubbing top and her new skirt, only a few hours ago, the world was a happier place. It was going to be a good night out. It was going to be the sort of night that you work all week to look forward to. She was going to dance the night away and wear herself out, as she’d done so many times before.

Now, while her friends were all going on to the next club, she was left alone with the bus shelter. She didn’t have money for a taxi. She didn’t even have money for a cone of chips, which might at least warm her up a bit. All she had was the prospect of the night bus home, and then to bed, to start the long process of recovery.

Didn’t he realise she’d be there tonight? Why would he bring his new girlfriend out? Why hadn’t he told her that she was dumped before he started parading this air-headed eyelash farm? So many questions, and so few answers. All she knew is that she was cold and the bus wouldn’t be along for at least another half hour.

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