Post by Adam Stanheight on Aug 25, 2021 21:43:20 GMT -6
00:00. Red numbers glaring into Adam's eyes, boring holes. Very little remarkable about them at all, but somehow the human mind must apply meaning to everything, huh? Adam was no exception.
He took a long drag of a stolen... uh, cigarette. Claudette probably wouldn't mind. A long exhale, the smoke briefly obscuring the clock so precariously affixed to the sacrificial hook. Well, loosely a clock. Timers, Adam supposed, adjusting his legs from his seat on the ground. Propped against a crate, he looked like the dead, slumped and tired.
(And isn't that a familiar sight? Just move downstairs, you'll be right at home.)
Whatever. Not thinking about that right now. The clock, right, whatever. What time is it, anyway? Was he ever going to get to know something like that again? "Jesus Christ, man," His head thunked back against the crate. Lighter thoughts, come on. Somethin' funny.
Maybe it's some shitty little holiday today. Something only grandmas looking for something to care about actually remember. Arbor day. Easter. Shit like that. National Banana Split Day. He finally cracked a smile, the idea of something as childish as a day to celebrate a food invented in the last hundred years. Sure, whatever, only have 365 of those, but ice cream with a radioactive fruit in it deserves it's spot.
Adam stole away another puff or two. He let himself slip further onto the floor, staring at the ceiling as he tried (operating word, tried) to blow smoke rings. "...I'm just gonna get Christmas songs stuck in my head like this, huh."
He took a long drag of a stolen... uh, cigarette. Claudette probably wouldn't mind. A long exhale, the smoke briefly obscuring the clock so precariously affixed to the sacrificial hook. Well, loosely a clock. Timers, Adam supposed, adjusting his legs from his seat on the ground. Propped against a crate, he looked like the dead, slumped and tired.
(And isn't that a familiar sight? Just move downstairs, you'll be right at home.)
Whatever. Not thinking about that right now. The clock, right, whatever. What time is it, anyway? Was he ever going to get to know something like that again? "Jesus Christ, man," His head thunked back against the crate. Lighter thoughts, come on. Somethin' funny.
Maybe it's some shitty little holiday today. Something only grandmas looking for something to care about actually remember. Arbor day. Easter. Shit like that. National Banana Split Day. He finally cracked a smile, the idea of something as childish as a day to celebrate a food invented in the last hundred years. Sure, whatever, only have 365 of those, but ice cream with a radioactive fruit in it deserves it's spot.
Adam stole away another puff or two. He let himself slip further onto the floor, staring at the ceiling as he tried (operating word, tried) to blow smoke rings. "...I'm just gonna get Christmas songs stuck in my head like this, huh."