ArtxFun

To, the boy with the Mohawk.   You were sixteen I think, I was seven. You were just standing outside the shop, hanging out with a few friends. I remember noticing how many people were staring at you. I also noted that the looks weren’t complimentary. I frowned and suddenly tugged away from my mum. She sighed and grabbed my hand at the same time as my other tiny hand tugged on the sleeve of your duster jacket. It looked just like the one Spike wore in Buffy and I was entranced by the smooth feel of it.   Your smile was shy, bemused. “Hello.” You said. “HI! Can I touch your hair?” For a moment you ju