[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
Monday, the 11th of June
The Dormouse, afternoon


I have found, quite curiously, now that I am no longer surrounded by tea I want a cup almost every day. It might be because it is no longer work; but I would bet that it has more to do with the way Hope blends them. It's like she has a sixth sense about what will taste good together.

It's raining and blah and I have no interest in being 'Mayor von SacherMosch' today. I just want to sit and have tea and sweets and not be in charge of anything. So much so I forgo all the pretty dresses in my closet and opt to wear a pair of old, comfortable jeans and a t-shirt I found at the flea market. I have no idea why anyone would want a shirt advertising hardware, but the 'Pretty Hate Machine' part amused me greatly.

With my hair up in a pony tail and a walk that clearly states "I'm off the clock!" I head over to The Dormouse for lunch. I silently pray it's not too busy as I shake raindrops from my hair and push open the door.

(open)
[identity profile] kira-galliard.livejournal.com
{Early Evening- Tuesday, 29th June ~ Day 394}
{Crossroads DanceHall}


Tonight I'm gonna have myself a real good time
I feel alive
And the world turning inside out, yeah
And floating around in ecstasy, so
Don't stop me now
Don't stop me
'Cuz I'm having a good time, having a good time


It is finally time to open the doors.
The lights are on- thanks to a couple folks from the fair who came out to help me with 'em. And the musics' done warming up now- sounds of instruments tuning and and the player's psyching each other up have given over to songs playing and feet stomping along.
A few brave souls have opened the dancing and there are mostly smiles all around.

So far so good.

A lot of the younger set know me by now from hiring them for the clean-up, and I put up some signs around town, so hopefully we'll have a good turn out.
And now that the greater part of the haying is done, people are in a good mood. People like to dance and come out and see each other when they're happy. Even in a strange town like this that holds true.

Smooth my skirt as I circle the floor towards the drink stand. I'll probably take a few turns of my own tonight, but mostly my job is to meet people who don't know me yet and get them to like me enough to come back. If the night continues like this, I do think it'll turn out fine.

The band starts another song, and I find my smile is genuine.

(The DanceHall is open to all! Come on in and have fun!)
[identity profile] faithnothope.livejournal.com
Thursday evening, Hope and Faith's trailer

Bin a steady few weeks, case o'snow aside. More or less used to 'ow things work wi' me an' Hope now, an' yeah, sometimes it's tough, cos I ain't used ter not bein' able t'speak when I want to. Pain in the arse that when I can finally go somewhere on me own I can't talk about it, eh? But there's things as make up fer it. Shaggin' Peter Granger as is barman at the Whitechapel 'elps - 'e ain't much of a talker anyway, an' t'be 'onest when 'e does talk I find 'im pretty boring, but lord does 'e 'ave a nice cock. 'E broke up with that Maya girl 'e was seein' a few weeks back, an' since I remembered 'ow nice it was when we shagged at that 'Alloween party I cheered 'im up. 'E don't want a girlfriend but I don't rightly care about that.

Also pretty 'appy that Hope an' Edmund're doin' so well, bless 'em. That bloke'd bore me to tears an' 'e's got all the sex appeal of a puppy, but Hope's pretty crazy about 'im which is what matters. Wonder if they'll end up gettin' 'itched. My sister marryin' a councillor, that'd be something! Dunno what I'd do then, though. Can't imagine not livin' with 'er.

Done one readin' this evenin', but it's bin a bit quiet otherwise. 'Oping we might get a couple more customers in t'night.

[closed]
[identity profile] hopenotfaith.livejournal.com
Thursday, April 8th, afternoon
Genny's trailer


'Ardly dare to 'ope that it's true, that Genny's alright again, but that's what people're sayin'. Want to - well, not like I can see for myself, but I can talk to 'er, an' if I go with Faith she can see for me.

Still feel strange after that long dream we all 'ad. Edmund an' me, we was right together, it felt like. I wish I knew what 'e thought when 'e woke up.

Feel Faith thread her fingers through mine, an' then I can 'ear 'er again. "C'mon, luvvie, day's awastin'" she says, not unkindly, an' we go off to Genny's trailer 'and in 'and. 'Ear Faith walk up the steps an' knock on the door. 'Ope we don't shock 'er too much.

[Open to Genny]
[identity profile] hopenotfaith.livejournal.com
Thursday, April 8th, afternoon
Genny's trailer


'Ardly dare to 'ope that it's true, that Genny's alright again, but that's what people're sayin'. Want to - well, not like I can see for myself, but I can talk to 'er, an' if I go with Faith she can see for me.

Still feel strange after that long dream we all 'ad. Edmund an' me, we was right together, it felt like. I wish I knew what 'e thought when 'e woke up.

Feel Faith thread her fingers through mine, an' then I can 'ear 'er again. "C'mon, luvvie, day's awastin'" she says, not unkindly, an' we go off to Genny's trailer 'and in 'and. 'Ear Faith walk up the steps an' knock on the door. 'Ope we don't shock 'er too much.

[Open to Genny]
[identity profile] sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com
[Late morning of February 13 (day 258)]
[Market on Main Street]


I may go see Klavec, again. Ask if he has anything I can look at, see if there are any shapes that want to be made into something. I can tan the leather myself, but it's never been work I like.

There's not much trade for masks, here and now; most of it these last weeks has been trinkets, pendants or hairpins, twists of skin or wood beaded and stitched and made to a brightness that promises spring, summer, the flare and splash of colour to come. People want what they can't have, want to hold the cool glaze of winter and the iced violets of its shadows when the air beats hot and wet in summer, and the burst of seeds splitting and spitting young green when the sight and ground crackles with autumn ashes. So my masks will wait for someone who wants to show themselves, even only to themselves.

I don't really mind; coming out is a way to sit and watch people go by. And customers will come, soon or late.

[Open]
[Closed]
[identity profile] sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com
[Late morning of February 13 (day 258)]
[Market on Main Street]


I may go see Klavec, again. Ask if he has anything I can look at, see if there are any shapes that want to be made into something. I can tan the leather myself, but it's never been work I like.

There's not much trade for masks, here and now; most of it these last weeks has been trinkets, pendants or hairpins, twists of skin or wood beaded and stitched and made to a brightness that promises spring, summer, the flare and splash of colour to come. People want what they can't have, want to hold the cool glaze of winter and the iced violets of its shadows when the air beats hot and wet in summer, and the burst of seeds splitting and spitting young green when the sight and ground crackles with autumn ashes. So my masks will wait for someone who wants to show themselves, even only to themselves.

I don't really mind; coming out is a way to sit and watch people go by. And customers will come, soon or late.

[Open]
[Closed]
[identity profile] hopeorfaith.livejournal.com
Friday, February 12th, early evening

"Yer sure y'want to do this, luvvie?" says Faith, smoking a cigarette as we stand outside in the dim light. I think, as I've bin thinkin' fer weeks now, but in particular since last Friday, after we spoke to Simon. Simon, who don't remember us. Who don't remember Azrael, or me, or -

In town now there's bits an' pieces in the shops fer Valentine's Day - flower arrangements at the florists, 'eart shaped cakes in the bakery. An' there ain't no Azrael fer me now, maybe not ever again, an' - An' Edmund, the fear and sadness on 'is face. An' after the riot, we're too scared t'go into town, cos there ain't nothing we can be but carnies, is there? Always stand out, an' we can't run. Can only 'obble, most of the time.

"Yeah," I say. "I'm sure." Swallow a bit, cos I know the price is 'igh. "You sure yer alright with it, too? It'll 'appen to us both."

Faith's cig glows in the dark, an' she's quiet fer a while. Then she drops the fag on the ground an' grinds it out.

"Come on, luvvie. Time's a wastin'."

Know Syl'll be mad when she finds out about this. But can't quite bring ourselves t'talk to 'er about it, even though we've patched things up. She came to see us after the riot, said she was sorry she didn't tell us about Azrael, an' we understood. Jus' like we understood 'ow she an' Simon 'ad somethin' goin' on before. But. Still think this is somethin' we need to deal with on our own. So we do.

Knock on Management's door, an' don't 'ave to wait 'ardly no time before it opens.

enter the labyrinth )
[identity profile] hopeorfaith.livejournal.com
Friday, February 12th, early evening

"Yer sure y'want to do this, luvvie?" says Faith, smoking a cigarette as we stand outside in the dim light. I think, as I've bin thinkin' fer weeks now, but in particular since last Friday, after we spoke to Simon. Simon, who don't remember us. Who don't remember Azrael, or me, or -

In town now there's bits an' pieces in the shops fer Valentine's Day - flower arrangements at the florists, 'eart shaped cakes in the bakery. An' there ain't no Azrael fer me now, maybe not ever again, an' - An' Edmund, the fear and sadness on 'is face. An' after the riot, we're too scared t'go into town, cos there ain't nothing we can be but carnies, is there? Always stand out, an' we can't run. Can only 'obble, most of the time.

"Yeah," I say. "I'm sure." Swallow a bit, cos I know the price is 'igh. "You sure yer alright with it, too? It'll 'appen to us both."

Faith's cig glows in the dark, an' she's quiet fer a while. Then she drops the fag on the ground an' grinds it out.

"Come on, luvvie. Time's a wastin'."

Know Syl'll be mad when she finds out about this. But can't quite bring ourselves t'talk to 'er about it, even though we've patched things up. She came to see us after the riot, said she was sorry she didn't tell us about Azrael, an' we understood. Jus' like we understood 'ow she an' Simon 'ad somethin' goin' on before. But. Still think this is somethin' we need to deal with on our own. So we do.

Knock on Management's door, an' don't 'ave to wait 'ardly no time before it opens.

enter the labyrinth )
[identity profile] hopeorfaith.livejournal.com
Friday morning, 5th February
The butcher's


Didn't 'ardly sleep none last night. Couldn't 'elp thinkin' 'bout 'ow Edmund looked when 'e stood up from the table. Like 'e was only just 'oldin' 'imself together.

There weren't nothin' in 'is face that said 'e was glad to 'ave found me, none at all. An' I wish I could put that from me, cos it ain't like I ain't used to people bein' disgusted or afraid, but -

Before we came to Excolo, thought I'd got used to it. Thought I'd accepted it, the way things were goin' t'be, an' I didn't like it, but - I knew 'ow to get on with it. An' then we came 'ere, an' I met Azrael. Never thought I'd fall in love. I know Faith thinks I've got all sorts of romantic ideas, but - I didn't, not really. Not as more than a sort of daydream, like imaginin' yer rich an' famous. Just like that.

Turned out to not be like what I expected, bein' in love. S'pose it can't be if you love an angel, an' you know you can't never 'ave 'im. An' then there was Edmund, who seemed just like - all those things I could've imagined fer myself, if I was like... other girls. An' I might never love 'im like I love Azrael, but I could love 'im, I think. An' it'd be somethin' real, not just a dream.

An' I think about what Management told us, after the Masked Ball.

We ain't seen Azrael since th' forgettin'. 'Ope 'e got our note. Sure 'e must've got 'is memories back like everyone else. S'pose the stuff with the thing from the tower must've made 'im want to lay low, stay quiet. I would've, if it was me.

Go on down into the town an' to the butcher's. Shop's quiet, an' I smile a bit when we come in.

"Mornin', Simon."

[Open to SIMON]
[identity profile] hopeorfaith.livejournal.com
Friday morning, 5th February
The butcher's


Didn't 'ardly sleep none last night. Couldn't 'elp thinkin' 'bout 'ow Edmund looked when 'e stood up from the table. Like 'e was only just 'oldin' 'imself together.

There weren't nothin' in 'is face that said 'e was glad to 'ave found me, none at all. An' I wish I could put that from me, cos it ain't like I ain't used to people bein' disgusted or afraid, but -

Before we came to Excolo, thought I'd got used to it. Thought I'd accepted it, the way things were goin' t'be, an' I didn't like it, but - I knew 'ow to get on with it. An' then we came 'ere, an' I met Azrael. Never thought I'd fall in love. I know Faith thinks I've got all sorts of romantic ideas, but - I didn't, not really. Not as more than a sort of daydream, like imaginin' yer rich an' famous. Just like that.

Turned out to not be like what I expected, bein' in love. S'pose it can't be if you love an angel, an' you know you can't never 'ave 'im. An' then there was Edmund, who seemed just like - all those things I could've imagined fer myself, if I was like... other girls. An' I might never love 'im like I love Azrael, but I could love 'im, I think. An' it'd be somethin' real, not just a dream.

An' I think about what Management told us, after the Masked Ball.

We ain't seen Azrael since th' forgettin'. 'Ope 'e got our note. Sure 'e must've got 'is memories back like everyone else. S'pose the stuff with the thing from the tower must've made 'im want to lay low, stay quiet. I would've, if it was me.

Go on down into the town an' to the butcher's. Shop's quiet, an' I smile a bit when we come in.

"Mornin', Simon."

[Open to SIMON]
[identity profile] hopeorfaith.livejournal.com
Thuresday, 4 February, early evening
Hope and Faith's wagon


Got back from our date wi' Westin - which was right nice, overall, even wi' the news about Miss Wanda - t'find we 'ad a note from Edmund. I was more interested, t'be 'onest, in the tarts 'e left fer us, but Hope was all giddy an' nervous altogether, an' then guilty, an' really, 'er feelings got so knotted up we both got belly ache, an' I told her smartly t'put the bit o'paper down an' get some sleep. It weren't even like 'e'd written much.

Dear Hope and Faith,
I was assured by a friend that you are masters of your craft. I'm not quite looking for a reading, but for your assistance in another matter. Please feel free to come by my bakery at any time, or to send message to arrange a meeting at your convenience. I will of course compensate you for your time.
Thank you in advance,
Edmund White

PS: Please enjoy the tortes as a token of my appreciation.


'Ardly a sign that 'e realised who that note Hope left fer 'im weeks ago was from. Hope's 'alf afraid an' 'alf 'opeful that that's what 'e's askin' about, though if it was I dunno why 'e's left it so long. Just 'ope fer 'er sake 'e ain't askin' about some other girl. Though then again that might be better. Get it over with. Ain't like she can say to 'im well we 'ad this spell that let us be separate for a night an' so that was why I could dance an' kiss you, is it? Or even if she did, I dunno that it would exactly go well fer 'er.

We meant to drop by an' see 'im the next day, but both of us came down with a rotten cold. Bin somethin' goin' about town, I think. Weren't in no state t'see no one. Jus' stayed on the Lot, which 'as bin quiet this week. A few people leavin'. Gar 'eaded off. Wonder what 'e gave Management. Bin a few rumours which made me laugh, though I don't believe 'em. Still, I reckon Management didn't settle for one of 'em wooden cats. Don't think no one but Verite's mum is too fussed about it - 'e never exactly got to know people. Was a bit shocked t'see the Block'ead leave. Though I s'pose there's only so many times you can drive nails into yer 'ead before the customers stop comin', an' 'e ain't got much wit t'branch out.

Anyway, was feelin' a bit better by yesterday, so sent a message with someone as was goin' into town t'suggest to Edmund 'e drop by today. Hope's bin anxious since this morning, though I told 'er I was sure 'e wouldn't show up til after 'is shop shut, if 'e came at all. We'll see.

[Open to Edmund]

[closed]
[identity profile] hopeorfaith.livejournal.com
Thuresday, 4 February, early evening
Hope and Faith's wagon


Got back from our date wi' Westin - which was right nice, overall, even wi' the news about Miss Wanda - t'find we 'ad a note from Edmund. I was more interested, t'be 'onest, in the tarts 'e left fer us, but Hope was all giddy an' nervous altogether, an' then guilty, an' really, 'er feelings got so knotted up we both got belly ache, an' I told her smartly t'put the bit o'paper down an' get some sleep. It weren't even like 'e'd written much.

Dear Hope and Faith,
I was assured by a friend that you are masters of your craft. I'm not quite looking for a reading, but for your assistance in another matter. Please feel free to come by my bakery at any time, or to send message to arrange a meeting at your convenience. I will of course compensate you for your time.
Thank you in advance,
Edmund White

PS: Please enjoy the tortes as a token of my appreciation.


'Ardly a sign that 'e realised who that note Hope left fer 'im weeks ago was from. Hope's 'alf afraid an' 'alf 'opeful that that's what 'e's askin' about, though if it was I dunno why 'e's left it so long. Just 'ope fer 'er sake 'e ain't askin' about some other girl. Though then again that might be better. Get it over with. Ain't like she can say to 'im well we 'ad this spell that let us be separate for a night an' so that was why I could dance an' kiss you, is it? Or even if she did, I dunno that it would exactly go well fer 'er.

We meant to drop by an' see 'im the next day, but both of us came down with a rotten cold. Bin somethin' goin' about town, I think. Weren't in no state t'see no one. Jus' stayed on the Lot, which 'as bin quiet this week. A few people leavin'. Gar 'eaded off. Wonder what 'e gave Management. Bin a few rumours which made me laugh, though I don't believe 'em. Still, I reckon Management didn't settle for one of 'em wooden cats. Don't think no one but Verite's mum is too fussed about it - 'e never exactly got to know people. Was a bit shocked t'see the Block'ead leave. Though I s'pose there's only so many times you can drive nails into yer 'ead before the customers stop comin', an' 'e ain't got much wit t'branch out.

Anyway, was feelin' a bit better by yesterday, so sent a message with someone as was goin' into town t'suggest to Edmund 'e drop by today. Hope's bin anxious since this morning, though I told 'er I was sure 'e wouldn't show up til after 'is shop shut, if 'e came at all. We'll see.

[Open to Edmund]

[closed]
[identity profile] westin-sagert.livejournal.com
[Evening of Thursday, January 28 (day 242)]
[The Sagert residence]


It is a day clear and hard as glass, and the warmth in the kitchen was quite pleasant. I procured a cookbook from the library--I might well have one, but it was simpler than going looking for it on my shelves--and spent the day with it and a dictionary in the kitchen. Roast pork with spices and chickpeas and (sadly canned) tomatoes, and a sauce. It called for yogurt, but I had to make do.

A light wine, as well, and I spent rather longer than might be expected on what passes for the salad course. Actual lettuce this time of year is not to be had, but I did chance upon some asparagus spears. And there are some radishes and carrots, which I have been distractedly cutting into rather elaborate shapes. The cake is in the coldbox along with the canned peaches, and I have set up a trunk and padded it with a folded blanket on one side of the table, since the chairs will hardly do for her.

I do hope she likes it.

[Open to Hope and Faith]
[identity profile] westin-sagert.livejournal.com
[Evening of Thursday, January 28 (day 242)]
[The Sagert residence]


It is a day clear and hard as glass, and the warmth in the kitchen was quite pleasant. I procured a cookbook from the library--I might well have one, but it was simpler than going looking for it on my shelves--and spent the day with it and a dictionary in the kitchen. Roast pork with spices and chickpeas and (sadly canned) tomatoes, and a sauce. It called for yogurt, but I had to make do.

A light wine, as well, and I spent rather longer than might be expected on what passes for the salad course. Actual lettuce this time of year is not to be had, but I did chance upon some asparagus spears. And there are some radishes and carrots, which I have been distractedly cutting into rather elaborate shapes. The cake is in the coldbox along with the canned peaches, and I have set up a trunk and padded it with a folded blanket on one side of the table, since the chairs will hardly do for her.

I do hope she likes it.

[Open to Hope and Faith]
[identity profile] westin-sagert.livejournal.com
[Late morning of Monday, January 25 (day 239)]
[The Miskatonic, before the lunch crowd arrives]


The electric in this town is quite pleasant. And I think I have rather settled into a routine, although whether it's the routine itself or the ease with which I can go through it, now that my hands are healed. But Excolo is far too small. I do not say that everyone knows everyone else, particularly not when peddlars come in on the weekend. But I am quite sure that if anyone went missing, someone would notice.

Perhaps when the season breaks, I may look at travelling out to some of the nearby towns. Or perhaps there will be more people coming in. It has been my experience that spring is a time when young people are particularly likely to set out for themselves, and occasionally they get far enough along the road, in their fits of youthful enthusiasm, that their parents lose track of them.

I find that the physiology of young people is particularly resiliant, and I have, I have so many ideas...

I smile up at the waitress and murmur my thanks as my brunch arrives.

[Open]
[Closed]
[identity profile] westin-sagert.livejournal.com
[Late morning of Monday, January 25 (day 239)]
[The Miskatonic, before the lunch crowd arrives]


The electric in this town is quite pleasant. And I think I have rather settled into a routine, although whether it's the routine itself or the ease with which I can go through it, now that my hands are healed. But Excolo is far too small. I do not say that everyone knows everyone else, particularly not when peddlars come in on the weekend. But I am quite sure that if anyone went missing, someone would notice.

Perhaps when the season breaks, I may look at travelling out to some of the nearby towns. Or perhaps there will be more people coming in. It has been my experience that spring is a time when young people are particularly likely to set out for themselves, and occasionally they get far enough along the road, in their fits of youthful enthusiasm, that their parents lose track of them.

I find that the physiology of young people is particularly resiliant, and I have, I have so many ideas...

I smile up at the waitress and murmur my thanks as my brunch arrives.

[Open]
[Closed]
[identity profile] syl-thorn.livejournal.com
[Late afternoon, Monday, January 18th, day 232]
[The Carnival Diabolique]



Been two days now. Two days ' folks runnin' 'round 'pologizin' fer forgettin'ey wuz married (think a few ovvem 're jes' claimin'ey forgot, mind), lookin' fer fam'ly't's wandered off, fer shit'ey's misplaced. Two days. Took me a solid half'a one ovvem t'quit bein' too mad t'leave m'damn wagon. Still mad. Don't rightly see when'm gonna quit bein' mad. But also don't see much point'n wastin' anymore time onnit. 'll Tez when I kill'im, annat's th'best I c'n say fer now. Meantime, 'ere's really only one thin't c'n keep m'attention when'm'is pissed. Well, two thin's, but m'hist'ry innis town wit' th'other ain't so good.

Ain't had many folk on th'Lot'a late, but gen'rally I c'n still draw'em in. 'm onna th'only ones on th'Lot't still can, so't's kinda m'respons'bil'ty too. Ain't hardly no one else't c'n keep up fed'ese days, an'I find I don't trust Management t'do't ferrus. M'us'al dress's prety fuckin' cold innis weather, but onna th'Grindhouse girls finds me a black fur cloak't works well 'nough wit' m'image. Set up m'tent, lay out m'charms'n potions, an'I sit back b'hind th'screen, wait fer th'first cust'mer t'show up.


[OPEN]
[CLOSED]
[identity profile] syl-thorn.livejournal.com
[Late afternoon, Monday, January 18th, day 232]
[The Carnival Diabolique]



Been two days now. Two days ' folks runnin' 'round 'pologizin' fer forgettin'ey wuz married (think a few ovvem 're jes' claimin'ey forgot, mind), lookin' fer fam'ly't's wandered off, fer shit'ey's misplaced. Two days. Took me a solid half'a one ovvem t'quit bein' too mad t'leave m'damn wagon. Still mad. Don't rightly see when'm gonna quit bein' mad. But also don't see much point'n wastin' anymore time onnit. 'll Tez when I kill'im, annat's th'best I c'n say fer now. Meantime, 'ere's really only one thin't c'n keep m'attention when'm'is pissed. Well, two thin's, but m'hist'ry innis town wit' th'other ain't so good.

Ain't had many folk on th'Lot'a late, but gen'rally I c'n still draw'em in. 'm onna th'only ones on th'Lot't still can, so't's kinda m'respons'bil'ty too. Ain't hardly no one else't c'n keep up fed'ese days, an'I find I don't trust Management t'do't ferrus. M'us'al dress's prety fuckin' cold innis weather, but onna th'Grindhouse girls finds me a black fur cloak't works well 'nough wit' m'image. Set up m'tent, lay out m'charms'n potions, an'I sit back b'hind th'screen, wait fer th'first cust'mer t'show up.


[OPEN]
[CLOSED]
[identity profile] syl-thorn.livejournal.com
[Early afternoon, Thursday December 31st, day 214]
[The Park]


Ain't feelin' too social. Wonder why. Mebbe has t'do wit' ev'rythin' m'crotch touches turnin' t'shit lately. An'I ain't'n th'mood t'head t'th'cooktent an' have well-meanin' people ask how thin's're goin' wit' th'butcher 'r if'n'at pretty dark-haired girl's been 'round lately 'r where th'hell Tez is. I jes' ain't. In fact, all I am in th'mood fer right now is sealing m'self in m'bloody wagon'n stayin' in'ere 'til spring.

But'at really ain't a fuckin' option, even if'n I wuz th'sort t'sit'n sulk when thin's go t'hell. I really ain't; don't take more'n a day fer me t'get sick'a starin't th'walls. Still ain't in th'mood fer visitin' folks, so I head out inta town. Not th'tavern (fuck, not th'tavern) 'r th'cafe....but th'park's safe 'nough. Good place t'sit'n think, wonder what th'crap t'do next. Aside from bloody sit back'n wait fer fuckin' menopause.

One thin' I know I gotta do's talk t'Hope. An'I really ain't lookin' forward t'at. Havin' m'gums scraped sounds like more fun.

Least th'town leaves th'benches out durin' winter. Find one jes' off a path 'n flop down, leanin' m'head back, closin' m'eyes. Day's clear, an' sunlight's creepin' 'tween m'eyelids, wind's cold on m'face, metal's like ice 'gainst m'back'n legs. Quiet. 'bout all I c'n hope for now. Jesus wept. Don't see how a li'l happy fun time wit'out thin's goin' t'hell's too much t'fuckin' ask. 'course, consid'rin'is fuckin' town, s'pose I oughta be grateful none ovvem's tried t'bloody kill me yet.

...m'ass 's startin' t'freeze.

[OPEN]
[CLOSED}

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