Putting together a dating profile when your needs are unusual, is not easy.
Over the way, in the giant concrete block of flats that make up Bailey Court, there is a little light that comes on at 1.15am, every single morning. I see it as I get myself a drink of whiskey with ice, the same as every night.
The party is in full swing. Well, as full swing as this kind of swinger's house party is likely to get, you think to yourself. You take another swig of your vodka and coke, and survey the room with your eyes, noticing everything, missing nothing. It is lively enough. Just the usual imbalance - as usual - of men and women. Many more single men than anyone else, prowling around, or hanging back shyly at the edges of the large main room. You clock the host, a well-dressed, attractive man who offers you a smile and a raise of his glass, to which you offer one in return.
Carole finished her essay and breathed out, puffing out her cheeks. She swigged the last of her cold coffee and rested her forehead on her hands, pulling her unwashed hair away from her face. She was utterly exhausted. But the essay was done, finally.
"I'll see you later. We need to talk."
I don’t know why I became so obsessed with the peephole in my solid wooden door. It’s nothing special really, just a hole in a door on a street. An average street. My life is not exciting; I am an insomniac and an agoraphobic, so I am awake through the early hours and rarely go out. The last time was three weeks ago, and that was with a close friend by my side.