–– in conversation with @akhct ; the british museum
london was a little like mediocre one night stands : fun in theory, nobody knew where the night was going to take them, and it left you feeling just a little sick to your stomach. but antony had never said no to his hometown, and with the olympics in less than three months, he wasn’t saying no to one last night out either. so when the friend of an ex’s sister’s second wife’s son’s former half sister had texted him mentioning an uber private but not-so-savoury dinner party in the british museum, well. friends texted other friends about shit going down in museums, didn’t they? so antony had called david immediately.
–––– “ okay, okay, okay, look at that one, ” he snorted, draining the last of his drink and cocking his head to the side as he pointed out the statue. was it a person? a blob? casper the friendly ghost? the soul of margaret thatcher? who knew. “ tell me you don’t think i can make that out of a few red cups. ”
