"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
"Put a blanket."
I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river.
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.