"There are very few records of *Ms. Hawthorns' existence, but a popular theory seems to be that she's the demon spawn of Satan. Either that, or she just has really bad hemorrhoids."
"Being the responsible, caring girl that I am, I did the only thing I could do: rolled my eyes and stalked off, muttering over my shoulder that he shouldn't be such a drama queen. Honestly, I'd known gay hairdressers that couldn't compete with that."
"We wind up hiding in a tiny broom closet.
Door Boy asks if he can kiss me.
I mutter a few select words in Irish.
He asks me if I'm fluent in German.
Go to smack him lightly in the shoulder, but miss as it's pitch black.
Settle for glaring at what I assume to be the vicinity of his chest."
"We ride through various cities until we reach a place I've never heard of before, and we slide off the train looking suspicious. After a furtive glance around, we decided that yes, this would be a good place to start a new life. Or, you know, get a burger."
januaryarsonist discussing the adventures of her day. You can find the full entry here.