 Ty post #3 PHILOMATH ❅ not one atom, but two ♪ ♪ made of starstuff ❅ def main():
It was official. Tyler Adams HATED flying mops with wet rags. With a passion.
Glaring at the mop as it inched slowly towards the centre, Ty was thankful that he managed to avoid any narrow collisions with people. It was IMPOSSIBLE to navigate this stupid thing. You lean a little to the left and it does nothing, you lean too much and it goes into a roll - and when you PUSH to the left, dear Merlin. It zooms off to do a bloody U-turn.
Aaanyways, he had finally reached his destination; the dead centre of the Quidditch pitch. As gently as he possibly could, Ty angled the broom up and began a slow, nervous climb; he was curious to see how high was too high for this mop with a wet rag.
The wet rag was the source of all the troubles - it was throwing off the WHOLE sleekness of the flying and was truly BLEH. Glancing towards the broomshed in the distance, the third year ached to be able to get himself a broom. ANY broom.
__________________ yeah I like tеlling stories________________________
but I don't have to write them in ink_____
_____________I could still change the end |