Getting a Bit Weird Now and One of You Has Plugged a Laptop in So You Can Stream No-Rights YouTube Videos Where Someone Has Transcribed the Karaoke
Don't believe me just watch.
(Photo by Sam Diss, literally of me)
Kind of an odd energy in the room now that the flatmate in the pyjamas has stopped silently sitting there with their arms wrapped around them against the cold, and instead you’re all sat on the carpet among the detritus of cans and opened packets of Maryland cookies (a Kronenbourg can has been designated the ashtray and it is already overflowing with stubs) and the carpet is mushed down to a grey-brown sludge and cushions are scattered everywhere – you don’t remember throwing the cushions, but the cushions got thrown – and you're queuing up " I Wanna Dance With Somebody" on the laptop while everyone around you simultaneously asks for a phone charger – phones charging everywhere, phones balanced precariously on chairs and left out on thoroughfares on the floor, everyone who has had more than one unit of alcohol immediately losing the ability to safely and sensibly charge a phone – and anyway, you’re doing the opening ooh–oohs into your fist and the doors to the balcony are open to let the smoke out and the city glitters dark around you and you breathe it in – that heady mix of smoke-staleness and beer fizz and the cold cut of night air, the city and the smog and the dust and the good and the evil, and you sing Clock strikes, upon the ho—
YOU HAVE WON FRIDAY NIGHT