Last stop, then ‘frisco.

by theappliedprocess

I had talked to ‘The Kid’ about potentially staying with him. He’d said most likely i could but we’d see once I got there. Not a clue what that meant… I also didn’t want to bother Geordie-Mo since I knew he’d be at work by the time I arrived. I had an early flight. I was at the Victoria station by 10:30 a.m. So I decided to book a hostel for the night. Usually I’m quite complacent and I always go far beyond what I should to make sure people feel at home, but I also hate being a nuisance, even if it’s very minimal, so a hostel sounded like a sensible solution. Whether I used the room or not didn’t matter. If anything I was paying for an expensive locker in central London.

I texted both Brits and waited for their response. ‘The Kid’ suggested I just come over and drop my stuff. I did so. It was nice to see him again. Always the good host he offered me water, a cigarette, a shower, and explained that the reason why he’d said we’d see if I could stay was because last time we were a bit too loud for his roommate. Understandable.

I left promptly to do a little shopping. I ended up spending more than I should, but the damn sales had me hooked! Rick Owens for 60-70% off? Yes please! Balmain and Burberry Prorsum for half the price? Why the hell not. I also found some weird aphrodisiac pearl dust that I bought because I thought it’d be a fun novelty to drink with champagne (as the instructions read).

Deciding it was probably not a good idea to continue spending money and being a bit scared that one of my cards got blocked at some point, I headed back towards Shoreditch. Me and ‘The Kid’ had said we’d meet back at his by 1930h. I was a bit early so I went to a small coffee shop/pub with free wifi on the corner of his street and logged on to the usual. He called me to tell me he was near. I saw him walking outside then pub and went after him. We went back to his place and popped open the bottle. We skype’d with our mutual friend. It was nice to see his face, but it would’ve been nicer to actually have a drink in person. I showed ‘The Kid’ the blog, per his request, and at first I felt he was a bit weirded out by the fact that I had written about him. I wasn’t bad, but I’m sure it’s a bit weird. He said it didn’t matter. I fought my own paranoia and chose to believe him. We were supposed to meet his friends for an event at 8 p.m. We lost track of time and showed up closer to 10.

We had a coupe drinks at a really cute, kitschy bar, but left promptly. The staff was being incredibly rude. We all went to Hoxton Bar & Kitchen. I really enjoyed hanging out with all of them, but ‘The Kid’ wanted to go somewhere else, and to be honest, I kind of did to. We devised a strategy, the moment he wanted to leave he’d say the code word ‘rabbit’ and we’d pretend I was tired and I had to leave to get a good night sleep and catch my early flight.

He took me to a bar I’d been with him last time. We drank more and more. Got in stupid arguments with stupid drunks. We drank some more. He kissed me. I kissed back. Had one last drink and walked back to his place for the inevitable.

Just like last time, the details are a bit blurry but there was more kissing, and touching, and cuddling. I don’t think either of us remembers when we passed out. I woke at 6ish in the morning and we kissed and fooled around some more. We went back to sleep and I woke  up when my alarm clock went off. It was a bit later than I wanted. We kissed and cuddled more. I briefly packed taking quick breaks to give him another peck. Soft. He suggested I miss my flight. While tempted, it’s also a bitch to miss flights, I should know. I left his apartment slightly hoping I would miss it but not on purpose.

I got to Heathrow, upgraded my seat, and now I’m typing this entry. I’m a bit sad and nostalgic. I still do love Europe, especially London, and I’m sure I’ll end up living there at some point, but I’m far from done in New York. We’re about an hour and a half away from San Francisco. Not sure what to expect. I already had a brief anxiety attack. I hate it, but I hate it even more when it happens on a plane. I’m about to take one last nap. I’m craving a cigarette like nymphomaniac craves a lay. All I really want to think of in terms of San Francisco is: should I get in-n-out or rubio’s first?