I lie every single day. 

A kitchen, in an office, in a building in Soho. 

“How was your weekend?”  

“Good, good! Went out with some friends on Saturday night and things got boozy real quick!”  

I spent most of my weekend touring the house with the most popular stops being the fridge, the couch, the toilet and the bedroom.  

A bed, in a bedroom, in a house in Muswell Hill. 

“Do you really mean it?” 

“Of course I do. It doesn’t even compare. By far the best sex I ever had. Can you not tell anyway?” 

She’s not the best. She doesn’t like half the things I enjoy in bed. We gave them a go but she’s just “not into them.” I sometimes have to close my eyes and think of the actual best sex I ever had to get myself over the line. 

A couch, in a coffee shop, on a backstreet in Bermondsey. 

“We’re back together.” 

“I knew it! I knew you would eventually end up together. So happy for you man.” 

I actually hate that bitch. There’s a reason why you broke up a thousand times and if the past is any indication, this will probably be over by some time next week. 

 A phone line, a phone, in a palm outside a pub in Shoreditch. 

“Hey Dad! Yeah everything is good. Just at a pub with the guys. How’s mum? Oh really? That’s cool! Give them my best next time you see them. Yeah work is good! Haha! London is always amazing. Can’t wait to see you guys in a couple of weeks. Kiss mum for me. Bye! 

It’s been two weeks since I quit my job. It’s the second night in a row I came to the pub alone. I’m petrified to see them in two weeks.