((The Following is something between a report, a journal, and a letter telling a tale, written in fine cursive longhand)) It started as sport I'll be honest. Nothing more than a way to pass the time. Walking the cobbled streets looking for entertainment. There she stood, wincing in boots that didnt fit, a smirk on her face, stood below the the streetlamp, an expression like she owned the place. She smiled at me. Such a simple gesture really, the twitching of muscles to acknowledge anothers presence... and Yet, such a look can be so loaded. So I bought her another, and another. "It had felt good."