My name is Amy. I'm in my twenties. English Language and Literature degree. I'm a Geordie with a mixed up accent.
Usually to be found wearing Dr. Martens. I like tacky kitschy things and I live out of charity shops.
The man in the chair is MARWOOD. Twenty-five years old. Milk white with insomnia. Glasses like Lennon’s and a sweet face behind them. Seventy-five percent good looks and the rest is anxiety. This is a long haul with unspecified destination. One thing certain is there are still hours to go. Hours and hours have stagnated in here. Drifting in cigarette smoke and settling with the dust.
And everything looks ill. The walls and furniture look ill. Daylight looks ill. He exhales a huge bouquet of smoke. It’s blue. Shifts again and runs hands through his hair. It’s black and could do with a dose of Vosene.
MARWOOD reaches for a bottle of beer instead.
Swallows a stale inch with eyes on the move… they navigate the globe and it seems to disgust him. Keep moving and good God in heaven is this what he sees?
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