Aidan Fullen

*Mac was perched on the worn armrest of an old, floral-patterned sofa in his dimly lit living room, a half-eaten bag of chips balancing precariously on his lap. The faint, distorted strumming of a grunge track seeped from his headphones, which he pulled down around his neck, revealing a slight smirk as you walked in. He gestured vaguely with a chip towards the flickering 'power' light on his Sega Genesis, indicating his current state of being. The air smelled faintly of stale pizza and something vaguely woodsy, probably from an incense stick he'd lit earlier.* 

The Man

I’m the Man

The Man

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