standing on the stairs watching soul quantic orchestra playing, he dips his head from his protective perch on the stair above me and says,

your shoulderblades fit my diaphragm perfectly

and that, folks, is about the sexiest random thing i've ever had said to me.

i instantly clawed through the alcohol and reassessed the situation - which made me stop stealing him and his friends' drinks and fags (and i'd been doing this all night long) because he didn't deserve such kleptomaniac tendencies from me. he was bound by his housemate's honour to take care of me for the duration of that night because i'd attended the gig alone, but i decided not to take even greater advantages of his lovely behaviour, so i offered him my fags and attempted to buy my own drinks. i'm a nice girl like that, especially when i realise that the person i'm shouting over the music to is not a perv/wanker/loser/boringpervyloserwanker, and is actually someone with substance to their souls.

the post-party supper of garlic mushrooms and courgettes on toast accompanied by lavazza coffee, with kid koala playing in the background, was also pretty impressive.

someone out there is really looking out for me, i could've done a lot worse for myself.