Send Try + a muse that you want to see me write! (accepting)
“Come on now. Don’t tell me y’ve never heard’ve it.”
Clad in pink cubic zirconia studded hoodie and wide legged jeans, sporting a toothy smile that is magnetically infectious, is Rose Tyler, “chav extraordinaire.”
Talking to a perfect stranger, a lonely, homely little old bag lady she’s seen by the flats where she lives the past three consecutive nights. Hew new friend is probably honing in on sixty, with frizzy salt and pepper waves peeking out of a hand-knit hat, and business casual attire that was once not so threadbare.
Rose has given the lady an excuse to come inside, and play Mickey’s favorite “don’t tell nobody I play it” game: Dance Dance Revolution.
She clicks on an easy-level song and leaps onto the mat, while mum makes them tea in the squeezed-tight kitchen, making a fool of herself flailing about to the steps of some catchy disco tune.
The stranger is laughing breathlessly; mission accomplished.
Icarus 