by Haritha Olaganathan

I:

Andi lugged the bin bags off the Drimnagh platform at 15:08. It was her customary journey, but this Friday was the worst by far, for where would she keep these bags? The blood? Herself?

As a temporary solution, she chose not to bleed over taxpayers’ commute cushions and dropped into the lighter bin bag.

The usual stream-of-consciousness ensued: she’d finally purchase a set of bags that could actually be classed as luggage. No, she didn’t need suitcases, because she would not go through this fiasco again. She needed a home, one without visiting hours, perhaps even a flushable toilet. Andi’s mind relished upon this stable utopia as her head leaned against a window, her pulsing temples soothed by the buzz from the tracks below.

Rialto approached and Andi assessed her two most contentious contacts. A text from Lord Alan seized the lead:

Alan: Hey beautiful, hope you’re having a good day. So, one of my Air bnbers cancelled for the weekend so could save you the room. And some trouble...if you wanted to join me for dinner later? We can see where it goes from there ;)