January 6, 2022
The sort of place I’ve learned to fear, along an ill-lit inauspicious street, where OPEN LATE beams garish red from one dank shop, which mainly sells cheap whisky, rizlas, crisps that aren’t quite Pringles. A house, mid-terrace. Curling paper sign, home-printed, leaching fading ink says ROOMS. I glance over my shoulder, wondering who might see…