There’s the beeping of a horn. I totter over to the bedroom window and wave.
I check out my reflection. My little black dress should blend in with all the other clubbers, but is that what I want? My heart aches with the need to be true to myself, but I’m scared.
I rummage through my wardrobe and choose a multi-coloured dress I designed myself. Zigzags weave together, the pattern as intricate as my emotions.
There’s a knock on the door. A shout.
‘Paul, are you ready?’
I run my palm over my chin checking for stubble and take a deep breath.