untitled

He asked me why i was so late
he was wearing a flowery hat
and
an apron around his waist
you're wearing an apron, i said
i know, he said
but he's not cooking i thought
how have you been anyway,
he asked as he opened his arms for a hug,
he gave good hugs
but he didn't listen to my answer
i'm trying to wrap up this guy who's been talking for ages

We got upstairs and
there was a guy talking into the mic
holding a Macbook in one hand
he squinted into the screen
and read
from the screen
he sounded bored
he was bored
a few people turned around
and acknowledged my arrival
with curious glances
and smiles
it was a writer's party
a sit down party
i was invited along because
there was people I had to meet
should meet
collab with maybe
a new project
something

i wasn't invited to dinner

As the night went on
i realised
something
these people
these writers
couldn't read
they
could not
retell
their stories
how beautifully tragic
they read

with
no
emotion
tripping over
lines which they had
(i assume)
carefully crafted
and it was dark and
i watched
and cringed
and listened
and smiled
and clapped quietly
when they were done

A couple
the girl wore
a dress and walking shoes
and i noticed that she had her shoes
propped up
next to my bag
there was a guy too
we were all sat at the back
and they whispered
through everyone