To Andrew of Campbell Street

I am sorry you could not possibly know that just because I was up dancing and laughing that I would be fun and/or easy. This is mostly due to the fact that I'd wanted to go home at 11 and it was coming up for 3. I was drunk on corona, jack and tequila because it was £1 a drink so why the hell not and annoyed that I was still there, that I'd been id'd at the bar (never happens), that my order was questioned several times even though I'd spoken loud, clear and confidently, that I looked like shit because my hair was such a mess all I could manage was pigtails. This is also due to the fact that your face was problematic. Angles I could not understand and facial hair like that thing you did in science, you know, with magnets and crumbs of metal. Also you made the mistake all men make of using the words "you should". I don't care what you are recommending I do, don't fucking say it. I will not be told what I should be doing. And you had the cheek to try to goad me into dancing more. I mean you were fucking asking for it.

So that is why I laughed in your face constantly and shrugged off your stares. That is why when Last Night came on I leapt up and bounced out of my heels and dipped my ass to the ground because Kirsty did not know how to do it. That is why I did not acknowledge you trying to dance behind me. That is why I leaned back so close and darted out of your way every time you tried something. That is why I left without saying goodbye and ignored you outside and when you demanded a hug I sighed so loudly at the taxi door and half-heartedly waved an arm out. I'm so sorry you were too interested, I'm sorry I slid away when you tried to kiss me. I'm sorry that she was so drunk that she cried half the night because her life is a mess.

I'm sorry that while I was trying to calm her down I was busy trying to find the perfect phonetic spelling for the next line in my next novel. I'm sorry that at 5am my hand found my phone in my jeans and typed tequila headache oww but did not send it because 'it's the wonder of communication and why should I send knowledge of my crippling hangover over the sea?'

I'm not sorry that I went home early even though I had to get her out of bed and my heels echoed too loudly down her street. By doing so I calmed the resent in my chest, I gave a man directions to a street he was already on and I saw Glasgow laid out before me covered in clouds. I wanted to scream louder than anything that I fucking loved my city but I can't stay here any longer.

I am slowly losing my mind.