Prologue.
I glanced round the Sports Bar. I was supposed to be meeting my friends here…an hour ago. Sure, they had only just landed but that's no excuse for not coming on time. Now I looked like I was heading for a 'loner-of-the-year' award alongside my 'collecting-empty-glasses' one. Okay let me explain what was going on here. I'm English girl (or to quote a Sting song a 'legal alien' sorry you think of these things when you're sat alone. Gr) living in the Big Apple; New York City. Hence why my friends are visiting but I think that they're using me as a reason to go Wrestlemania which, by chance I presume, is at the Garden. I've lived here for about two years, I work as a freelance journalist, bien? Non? Yup that's about the limit of my French skills after five years and one A in the subject. Fuck yes. I glanced at my watch. Still late, bastards. I felt a tap on my shoulder, I span round in the chair guns blazing, all ready to give them shit on shit for being late when I realised it wasn't anyone I knew, well knew personally I certainly knew who this guy was.