Back

KATJA

Katja used to be fit. Toned with just enough muscle to make guys slightly uncomfortable. It never bothered her. The way they looked at her.

Now they don’t. An unholy mix of speed, cocaine, molly and ketamine has eroded her chiselled frame. Her hair matted, greasy and unkempt. Voice hoarse from cigarettes. She’ll drink alone. Toasting the reflection in her drink.

She likes the anonymity of their pity.
Yet misses their insecurity.