Crowley sat back on a bench of good old sunny St. James park, leaning lazily off of one side of the old wooden bench as he watched the ducks through designer sunglasses, just slightly over the newspaper he pretended to read. Leaving the entire left of him empty for a certain someone.

This was their special rendezvous spot, and even though they didn’t need to rendezvous any longer, he waited for a certain Angel, clad in tartan. This Newspaper is shockingly bland.