Kindle Notes & Highlights
Over the summer, while I was washing up in the pub and saving for my university fund, I mused about who I would be with Victoria gone. I decided I’d call myself Vicky, but I’d spell it Vikki. Vikki was confident and brave and funny. Vikki was popular. Vikki was life and soul of the party. I had it all planned out.
Vix Fisher was the type of girl who had the strength to interrupt people. ‘I like Vix.’
Talking to Nick was so easy. It was as if we’d known each other all our lives. Of course, I read up on things he mentioned, listened to Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd on repeat, made sure we had plenty in common.
‘Enough with this. You’re going.’ She huffed again. ‘And you are très glamour. You’re an artist, for fuck’s sake. An artist who lives in Marseille and wins awards. Come with me, to my place. I have dresses. Mon dieu, chérie, you give me an attack of the heart.’
Bilingual people don't actually talk like this, ugh
Thank fuck AI has come in to execute the shit ones.
Julian is an asshooole
