By Quinn Wilde
Quinn Wilde spends a formative 12 months learning on the college of St. Andrews, Scotland, and residing in Fife Park, the most affordable scholar place of dwelling within the united kingdom. alongside the best way, there are blunders and pretend pas, damages and destruction, passions and revelations, longing and belonging, love, secret, tragedy, recognize, and only a tiny bit of intercourse.
"One of the easiest home-grown comedies of this 12 months, a true campus-themed gem."
"This first-time writer is basically one to monitor. His ebook is generously provided and generously priced. I recommend you present him by way of analyzing it."
"A strangely compelling novella, which I chewed via in one laugh-out-loud sitting."
"If you have been to college, and do not realize half this booklet, then you definately have not fairly been to University."
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Additional resources for A Year In Fife Park
I lunged to get a hold of his throat, but he held me at bay like a leaky bin bag. He didn’t hit back. He already looked badly over it. But Craig appeared over his shoulder, right on time. I don’t know how long he’d been watching us. I know him, though. ’ Craig asked, shaking his head. Lips still curled in an amused smile. ‘You too, Craig. ’ Smile didn’t go anywhere. Cruel motherfucker. The fight was all out of me anyway, but Scarface pulled me off Frank, started waving his finger at me. Doing the bouncer thing.
I stared out over the bay, taking it all in. The sights, the sounds, the dirty smell of the sea and the smoky taste of my junk food. It was a good night, but it came in on a good tide. The sweet mood was merely an extension, an expression, of what was already true to me; that I was in the right place, that things were going to be fine. Warm and homely, it also carried an electric note of excitement. It was anticipation, and joy. It washed over me like the lapping sea; it kept on lapping, kept on giving, in waves.
I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. Can I come in? ’ Frank waved me in, and I sat on a pile of shirts in his chair. But all I said was ‘I’m sorry,’ again. ‘It’s fucking 6am,’ he said, getting back into bed. ’ ‘I’ve been up all night,’ I said. ’ ‘Don’t worry about it, Quinn,’ he said. I could feel the guilt burning in my stomach, and apologising wasn’t making it go away. ‘Look,’ Frank said. ’ ‘Yeah, it was shitty,’ I said. ‘But I was so out of line. I just…’ ‘Forget it,’ he said. ’ ‘That’s how it is,’ he said, with an exasperated sigh.