I always think of you when boarding the Victoria line… I pass by your house and remember that after all those months, we never took the tube together. I look at the couples kissing on the escalators and think: that will never be us.
You insisted they were worth the money, and now I think of whenever I pass Savile Row.
Every 3 months you did your roots, and I loved the way the bathroom smelled for days afterwards.
you know, that mix of burning garbage, diesel fumes and open sewers? It makes me remember when we were in Cambodia and you were on the back of my motorbike.