By Beth Grace
Last year, on the top deck of the 98 bound for Holborn, I cried quietly.
My bus pulled into Red Lion Square. I dried my eyes.
I grabbed my bag and walked the 10 minutes left to work.
I chirped hello, rested my head against the kitchen cupboard. Watching on as my water glass overflowed in the sink.
I went on to work until 9pm. I made it home in time to crawl into bed, binge eat and sleep.
The work was made. The client was billed, and the agency was paid. No questions asked, no eyebrows raised.
Over my three years in advertising I’ve worked Read full story ›
Source: The Drum