Taken for granted, first do the hard work then make the flashy riffs delight the crowd (I wonder what it would be like to play a flashy riff with or without a crowd). That was the way I thought the match went, the favourites didn't respect their opponents enough, but their opponents had worked hard to find the weaknesses, the small areas in which they could take the lead. And led they did. Throughout. And even though I favoured the favourite, they lost.
He looked at his foot, a misstep. Momentarily the wrong place to set his foot, the ground was soft, the sludge creeping up. He was about to step back when he heard the cackle behind him. Those crows. He wondered if he could pull his foot back without them noticing. He thought maybe they weren't even watching him this time. But he couldn't risk it. He stepped forward, squelch. He pretended this was what his plan had been all along. Bloody crows.
Wanderer
Perhaps I would enjoy the life of a nomad, tavelling from place to place in my...
October 23
An so with the darkness knocking at the door patiently waiting for the inevitability of...