2 years ago on 19 June 2011 @ 1:44pm + 33 notes

I never land on a Sunday. Sunday’s are boring.

The TARDIS landed and a familiar man in a brown pinstripe suit stepped out. Alone. He was on Earth, again, and the smell of wet grass hit him as soon as he breathed in.

There was a slight breeze blowing which ruffled his already messed up hair. “Well, here we are the-” he started to say but looked around, remembering that he was still alone. He sniffed and ran a hand through his brown messy hair, moving on.