I hop down onto the pavement and walk along, a bounce in my step.

London, here is my city, here is my home. Full of life and bustle.

I duck around the corner, cutting down an alley to the street market.

What do I need? An avocado, some bread, oh, some apples.

I pick up some stuff, and duck back down my alley.

I traverse the pavements of my city, up my stairs and to my flat.

I check my mirror, checking I’m still pretty.

Chuck the groceries in the fridge.

Pick up the phone, call me mam.

Ring ring

“Hello” she says.

Hi mam

“Oh Jace, how’s it going?”

And so on goes the convo with me mam.

And my mate walks in, he has a key you see, and he says “who was that on the phone?”

Just me mam.

“Your mam? What kinda accent is that? Thought you said you’ve always lived in London?”

Oops.

London, Liverpool, same place, near enough, right?

Nah. My mask has slipped.