I don't know how it feels to read this but while writing it I discovered a new mixture of sympathy and revulsion. Transcript: Comic 'Lifestyle of the Modern Earwig' What are those pincers for?
This story is about a year old now, but I'll never forget it. It was Monday, and the group I was with was planning on meeting at Y Mochyn Du pub later that night. I found internet, looked up the directions, and decided to split off from the group to go to an internet cafe to write my family. I had only been in Cardiff a few days, and had already gotten lost enough to feel confident with my surroundings. The internet cafe was a whole new brand of creepy.