Mr Germany 

This bloody cow has me in the middle of the street screaming ‘Melodyyyyy’ at the top of my voice. Why must Tinder rinse my battery to zero before 6PM every day? Why could I not foresee this and write her address down like a logical person? Only 100+ flats to choose from. I look like a crazy woman and the white chicks are staring at me from their balcony overlooking Battersea park. I continue to shout as I see people on a balcony making party noises. The white girls are clearly disturbed by my chaos; this was certainly not the ambience they imagined when they paid 2m for their shoebox studio. They were going to ASBO my ass up. I was saved before their imperialist urge to clear the semi-brown girl off the street kicked in.
‘Are you okay?’ I hear, so I turn and there I see Mr Germany. All 6’1 of him looking breathlessly good. I explained my predicament and it turns out he was already invited and he lives in the same block. Melody and Germany had met in their apartment’s gym. Melody and I had similar tastes in everything and he was no exception. We arrive to her shoebox and it’s packed full of drunk people. Melody and her boyfriend approach to give us both drinks. She winks at me in that annoying ‘you two should get it on’ way. She says nothing more and engages with others. Great! She’s pushing me on the German. 
I was faced with the unwelcoming black pixels as I stared at my phone that was habitually glued to my hand. ‘I’ve got a charger at my place’ and he just walks off. I start following thinking his eyes were the blue Caspian Sea and I could see myself dancing in them. Shit! He said he had a charger, not to follow him. I guess I was just swept by those gentle tides. This will not stand up in court, how has my fat ass been swept by the gentle tides? Did he want me to me follow him? Is it acceptable to stop now? I decide to continue. He turns and smiles. I try not to smile as that may be leading him on. Although, he is the one leading me with his god damn currents.
Boy got a nice apartment. His flat is tastefully decorated. He has a huge oak book shelf and I like that. I don’t read, but someone has to. He hands me the charger and we head back to the party. I am so not that type of girl to get washed up on his bed. But then again how can I control the tide that is elicited by the moons gravitational pull? I better strap up, there may be a god damn tsunami tonight. We continue to drink with knees touching and watch people who are clearly far more wasted than we we are.
We talk about life then he leads me to love and loss. I don’t know why but guys recently feel like they can pour their hearts out to me. I need to work on my bitch face. I mean it’s sweet but I am seriously not the type to give heartfelt advice. I thank my wise mother for my inability. Whenever I approach her with an issue, she always says’get over it and get up woman. You don’t want to look an utter mess’. That’s the tough love I am used to and it has done me great.
As Germany talks, I keep my cards close. I have learnt my lesson with my drunk blabbering (reference Mr. Sweden). He clearly is about to learn the same lesson: he lays all his cards down and even empties his pockets. He goes on to tell me his girlfriend had packed her bags one day and left him. He worked long hours and didn’t really see it coming. He tells me they had different work ethics, ideas about the future and everything really. However, he said he thought when you love someone it shouldn’t matter. Note to self: naive. He strokes his knees and mine as if out of his trance. He is in the midst of deciding to move his hands anywhere else. He looks at me and says ‘to know warmth, you first need to experience the cold’. I’d heard that somewhere too, so clearly unoriginal but I liked it as it was mysterious. I looked at him and it became apparent, he was broken too.


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