I had a voicemail from someone called Lucy today. She wants to come see the flat. She sounds like a sweet girl and I felt terribly bad when I heard her voicemail. It was the hesitant, scared and slightly awkward type. The type of voicemail I'd leave a girl when asking her out over the phone when I was fifteen. Except Lucy is looking for somewhere to live and not for a date.
I told the Twatmate that someone'd be over to see the flat at 6.00pm today. He didn't respond. No grunt, no okay, just nothing. He is now lying shirtless on the couch in the living room watching the football. I wonder if it's unreasonable of me to ask him to put a shirt on. I'd not wander around shirtless if a stranger were about to visit the flat, but maybe up north things are different? Fuck, I hate being a stranger in this country.
I hope Lucy does not have to live here with this twat, but hell, perhaps she'll break down and kill the wanker.
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