Big brown leather couches sat opposite each other, a large wooden coffee table covered with car magazines, remote controls, a black iPod, open laptop ...nd various CD’s sat between them, whilst an enormous flat screen TV was fixed up on the wall above an expensive stereo system. A battered old guitar leaned up in a corner of the room, and a pair of silver dumbbells lay next to a pile of old newspapers. After they had eaten Misha explained that they had to go down to Guildford and his apartment as. “Coming, coming,” I mutter under my breath. Unlatching the lock, I pull the heavy wood door inwards and my gaze is brought up to a man in a UPS uniform and a killer smile. “Package, Ma'am. I need your signature, please.” His voice has a southern twang, one that reminds me of a country singer, with who's name I can't place. “Sorry to keep you waiting, I couldn't part from my book,” I explain myself, as if I needed to. “No problem, Ma'am. I know how it is. You get so sucked into it, you forget. More

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