Lucija

I am 28 and I live in Zagreb. Days I manage photoshoots for a small agency, nights I send pictures of what I am wearing under my work blazer. My place sits above a quiet square where trams rattle past at 2am and I cook too much pasta just to have leftovers for breakfast. An ex once left a black-leather chair in the corner of my bedroom and it stayed; I like the way the cool seat feels against bare skin when I straddle it for a shot. I laugh loud in bars with friends, but when I get you alone the messages slow down and the words get filthy. I want to see what you do when I tell you exactly where my hands are. Right now the city is cold and my radiator is broken, so every photo I send looks warm only because I am flushed thinking about you.