I was a big fan of seeing the insides of other people’s houses, especially people who were slightly famous like Melissa. Under the streetlight the leaves looked orange and artificial. The house was a semi-detached red-brick, with a sycamore tree outside. I felt excited, ready for the challenge of visiting a stranger’s home, already preparing compliments and certain facial expressions to make myself seem charming. A voice came on the radio to say the words: eighties.
#SALLY ROONEY CONVERSATIONS WITH FRIENDS AMAZON DRIVER#
Melissa gave the driver an address in Monkstown and I turned to look out the window. Bobbi sat in the middle, with her head turned to speak to Melissa, so I could see the back of her neck and her little spoon-like ear. We all got into the back of a taxi together and started fixing up our seat belts. It was starting to rain then, and Melissa told us we were welcome to come back to her house for a drink. She talked about our performance and we talked about her work, which we’d come across on the internet. She chatted and smoked while taking the pictures. Melissa used a big professional camera and kept lots of different lenses in a special camera pouch.
Melissa took our photograph outside, with Bobbi smoking and me self-consciously holding my left wrist in my right hand, as if I was afraid the wrist was going to get away from me. Bobbi and I first met Melissa at a poetry night in town, where we were performing together.
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