*policeman voice* alright sir im going to have to ask you a few questions. *pulls out notepad* where did you come from? where did you go? *slams fists on interrogation table* where DID you come from cotton eyed joe?
a friend came round to help me revise and forgot to log out of her facebook on my laptop so I’ve spent the last 20 minutes devoting her facebook to trains.
I’ve also got the middle name “ILikeTrains” pending and have joined 50 “I love trains” groups.
TODAY BETH RECEIVED THIS LETTER FROM A TRAINSPOTTING ORGANISATION. THIS FRAPE IS THE MOST SUCCESSFUL THING I’VE DONE IN MY ENTIRE LIFE.
“And under here, Hedwig”—Harry pulled open a door under the stairs—“is where I used to sleep; You never knew me then— Blimey, it’s small, I’d forgotten…”
Harry looked around at the stacked shoes and umbrellas, remembering how he used to wake every morning looking up at the underside of the staircase, which was more often than not adorned with a spider or two. Those had been the days before he had known anything about his true identity; before he had found out how his parents had died or why such strange things often happened around him. But Harry could still remember the dreams that had dogged him, even in those days: confused dreams involving flashes of green light…
real friendship is sending them a link to something terrible so you can both be traumatized at the same time