London wasn’t built for this heat. It’s indecent. My shorts look like a Rorschach test depicting ‘the Bakerloo Line in July’. Nancy’s showing me this trick where you take a tissue and fold it under your boob to absorb the run-off. She says armpit stains are acceptable, but the matching crescent moons of sweat that underline my tits make her feel nervous. No-one else in our carriage seems nervous, just pissed off and ruddy. They’re silent, too; all I can hear is the roar of the tube and one boy who keeps asking his mum, “How much days ‘til Christmas?”
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“ Rorschach” 😘