The Hypnotist

Last Saturday, a gaggle of friends and I were on our way back from Edinburgh with a trainload of drunk rugby fiends. The inebriated despair made itself known in drunken moans and heads hung sadly over Echo Falls Rosé. The North American Scum that we are (double points if you get that reference), none of us really cared about the rugby as much as we did for escaping the bubble for a few precious hours to go shopping and lollygag with a bunch of strangers instead of the two hundred people that knew every sliver of our lives. Exhausted by all the city excitement, I face planted on the little dining table in our train cubby. I woke in Lochgelly to the screeches of a strangely discordant London accent.

Pickpocketing Love Letters

“If you are reading this then you are directly linked to the moment I decided A was incredible, amazing and worth keeping, I’ll let you know how it goes, x T”.