"Probably," she says, and manages to make even an agreement sound smooth, nonchalant. A part of her is surprised the girl puts up with the conversation, even keeping it alive like this, not waiting for Gaby to keep pushing for answers.

Maybe she doesn't have too many people to talk to, like this. Or maybe it's easier, to talk to a stranger on the street than those you know... without the need to pretend.

Gaby wonders when pretending became easier than trying to truly be someone, when even being herself started feeling like a pretense.

"I'm sure you could... but if it was, as you say, crap," her voice places the slightest of emphasis on the word, like making it subtly obvious there is another word she would use, the sibilant sounds of her native language at the tip of her tongue, "wouldn't it be the same in any one of those?"

Of course it would. But that isn't the point, is it?

"What is it you came here to do? To London. Find work? A holiday? Me, I'm the former," she adds, with the slightest of smiles.