the party was loud, the room was bright and you had a migraine. now what to do? you cpuld either stay and have a shit time or leave and get fomo.. either or would be shit, you you push outside where theirs less people. you sit on a wall, lighting a stress cigarette as some blond sits next to you.. you dont look up, not until your lighter was out of fuel and the guy straight away habds you his.. its damon albarn. a grin on his face as he looks at your discomforted face.

“y’a got a headache? me too. wanna go to my flat? its a five minute walk from here.. not far..” he asks, you agree, honestly he looked like he couldnt harm a damn fly. so you follow him to his flat. he unlocks the door. its dark, smells like oranges and lemons too.. “you know.. your real pretty.. honestly i couldnt stop looking at you at that party, your breathtaking.. now, do you want me to ring a taxi to take you home cus im guessing you dont wanna stay in my shithole..?” he says sweetly, knocking on the kettle and picking up the phone: