Once, a long time ago, there was this girl I knew. We travelled together for a while. She was smart, and funny, and brave, and knew how to deal with me. But eventually she left me. And she was right to do so.
The day she walked away from me was the last time she ever saw me, but not the last time I saw her. I encountered her one final time, although she never knew I was there.
I've had a lot of friends come in and out of my life. Some go by choice, some are forced to, but all of them think that that's the end. But there are no ends to stories, only to your part in them, and since I have a machine that can travel through space and time, I can check in on stories after my part is over, to create an epilogue to our time together.
The day she left me she'd promised that she was going to become a story teller. I wanted to see how she'd done it, because I had no doubt that she's succeeded.
I landed my blue box in a side street in London, it seemed the easiest place to try and find som