I wasn’t anxious about crashing, but about landing.
I was as nervous as a whippet. Leaving London, leaving England, filled me with fear.
I ran to the bathroom more times than a teenage bulimic. I’m not used to all this emotion.
I have a memory of a group of us dancing on a pontoon on the lake one Friday night that I think about if ever I need to reduce my blood pressure.
He said he’d had a headache, and had to pack, but I knew that it was love that had made him a liar.
She said she’d visited my father’s grave and told him my news. He was, I understand, thrilled by it.
At the launderette, an elderly man took off his trousers, put them into the dryer without washing them. He sat on a chair and offered me a cigarette.