Coffeebot Heroine This body is a hotel and a shrine. You can have it when I die.
Hoxton separatists with Romanian AK-47s and grenades, probably bought wholesale somewhere south of the river in a little place you’ve never heard of. My trousers were uncomfortably soaked in petrol as I was pinned down by small arms fire, hiding behind a black cab.
I’d explain, but I’m jonesing for my next double macchiato.