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Last week, I’m thinkin’, sex-dating’s a game. Met this chick, fine as hell, curves screamin’. She’s all “let’s chill,” but ghosted me—WTF? Felt like Haneke’s film, that tape droppin’, no explanation. “Who sent it?” I’m yellin’ in my head. Hooked up once tho, years back—girl said she’s a nurse, turns out she’s a stripper! Surprise, Ye, you dumbass—loved it tho. Sex-dating’s chaos, pure vibes, no rules.

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But then, things got real. This guy, I swear he was like 7 feet tall, comes up to me. He’s got a scowl that could scare a lion. He’s all, “I’m getting in, man.” I’m like, “Nah, not tonight, buddy.” He starts yelling, and I’m thinking, “Great, just what I need.” But then, his buddy steps in, and they start arguing. I’m just standing there, watching this drama unfold like it’s a soap opera.

The six European cities set for direct trains from St Pancras with 'cheaper tickets'