WRITE OFF: Battle one

It’s one of those afternoons were the hours drag past as slow as molasses and there isn’t a  way to escape the heat of the sun as it beats down onto the olive green tarpaulin of the tents in their camp. It’s hot enough that the ground looks liquid, shimmering  sharp sand yellow as the team linger in the shade of their tent ( Read more... )

Screw Victor.

Fucking arsehole.