There’s a post-box outside my block of flats with two letter holes. It’s the double-width kind like the one you leap frogged with no hands outside my Uni accommodation. You flew over it so easily, the drunk man who bet you couldn’t gave me 20 quid and said, He’s the coolest guy I’ve ever met. Do you remember hiding in the loo at that house party to sellotape our feet to our faces when those women wanted to kiss us?

© Carl Burkitt 2022