It was not a sunny evening, rather cloudy and rainy. Conor had just docked their boat up (captains orders). The weather conditions were too harsh to sail in, so they had decided to dock up for the night at a small coastal town in Southern Wales.

It was the early 1970s. Everything was bright. They had David Bowie. Yet this town looked so dull, although it was probably since there was a raging storm.

Conor was just a teenager, just gotten out of secondary school, and was now pursuing his job as a sailor.

He was 6,2 in height with very sharp but sad looking features. His eyes were sleepy looking. They were a dark, story grey colour. While his hair was very golden, he had golden curls. He had olive skin that looked smooth with the few moles covering his face along with the award-winning, charming smile he presented.

Here he was, standing by the dock, about to walk off to a hotel with his few crewmates. That was until he had almost gotten thrown into the sea, and his bag had fallen and spilt all over the rough pavement.

"Ah shit! I am so sorry." Some girl with a thick Welsh accent blurted out beginning to pick up his stuff and stuff them in his bag to give back to him.