We would meet in front of the Burger King in Piccadilly Circus to go to West End nightclubs during August of 2004, me and two Spanish sisters from my old residence hall who shared a love of dancing and cheap drinks.
It’s mid-September, and your room is set up at last. Your chair is here, your toes are toasty in the A.M. thanks to a whimsically shagged carpet you bought at Wal-Mart, your creamy walls glow with the efflorescence of a thousand late nineteenth-century French advertisements purchased from the student poster agency.