February 9th, 2011



when you end up talking to three rather lovely guys while waiting for a taxi home and one of them was beautiful and from Nottingham and had stab wounds (why is that hot? it shouldn't be, right? except it kind of was) which he showed you while trying to explain that Nottingham wasn't that bad, which i don't think i ever thought it was until i found out he had been stabbed twice while living there and then your taxi comes before you exchange names or numbers or anything.

why does life hate me?

why am i so awkward?

why can i only talk to the opposite sex with alcohol in my system?

hate my life.

how has your day/evening/night been?
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    drunk drunk