The old failed actor genuinely believed this girl was of a lesser race. He believed she shouldn't be talking with me, shouldn't be here at this party, shouldn't be here in this country. He wanted a white England. I didn't really challenge him on it. Sometimes I justify it with thoughts like I was drunk, or baffled, or it isn't an argument I'll win, or he can't hear me anyway, or whatever. I didn't argue with him. I just cut off his rant and left with a pathetic "In a bit."

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

currently

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

no longer writing in the third person