MagicalKnightMoon

  It’s a late spring night on Baker Street in North Manchester, the air smelling of rain and fresh baked goods from a bakery down the road, whose owner was up late preparing for the next day’s business.   A dimly lit apartment, the only lights from a lamp and the blueish glow of a laptop, as the city bustled outside the windows, the pale amber streetlights casting halos on empty sidewalks a deep grey. A man, dressed in a blue grey bathrobe, lounges on the couch, a pale arm lying over his eyes, thick dark curls on his head in a crazy unkept fashion, soft enough you’d almost want to touch it if it weren’t for the loaded