“It’s not proper for seventeen-year-old princesses to be alone with young men who have questionable intentions.” She laughed. “And what about young men who she’s been best friends with since she was barely old enough to walk?” He shook his head. “Those are the worst.”
My cat Totoro is missing :’( I have spent the last few hours wandering the streets trying to find her, but it is 1am and it’s very dark out. I can’t see her. I don’t know what to do :’( I must hand out posters tomorrow. I know it doesn’t help to put this on here, I am sorry for bothering you, I am just not coping very well right now :’( I must go back out and look some more.
I wish I had the words to describe what it feels like to have The Followers come on. Brent first, followed by Spencer, and then Joe, and the crowd goes wild, explodes, erupts, but I hold my breath because no, no, that will not do, and the mic in the middle stands empty, and Joe’s already got his guitar wrapped around himself, and he strums a chord, flashing us a stunning smile and then we hear crash bang cymbal cymbal crash bang, and only then does the last quarter of The Followers arrive.
It’s funny when you first see a person you’ve only seen pictures of, and then, suddenly, they appear in front of you, flesh and blood and breathing, ten rows ahead and centre stage, a bony wrist lifted in an awkward hello. And I can’t look away. Ryan’s tall and too thin and wearing a smart suit and he’s clean shaven, but he’s scruffy, somehow he just is, like a rough diamond, and he sings the first line, monotonous and doomed, and he sounds like a prophet. The crowd loses it.
I don’t look away once.