Well, you know me, I never learn. So peel me off the hook.
Rusty Hunt leans against a tree in a park with his face pressed up against the bark. There's only partial awareness of his surroundings right now. He's supposed to be working. He hasn't sold shit this week. Rusty feels like shit. Sick as fuck. The trashcan sitting a foot away from him is filled with trash and his vomit. He may have seriously fucked himself up last night, but it felt good for a little while, and then it didn't feel at all. Even got rid of the pseudo heart attack.
Now he has to stand here and hope that someone who knows what he does stumbles upon him and needs to buy. He doesn't have the heart to convince some kid that the answer to the pain she feels over her parents' divorce is heroin- that he has the answers to all her pain for a price.
Luke Roberts is hanging out at the pier. He leans against the railing and stares out away from the city, sipping a bottle of milk in one hand. He's exhausted. For the first time in his life, he wants a vacation, but knows he couldn't last more than a day. For more than one reason.
Jamal Malik sprints down the sidewalks of Chicago with half of a hot dog in his hand. He may run into someone on his way. He keeps looking behind him. The camera swings heavily from his neck. Back and forth.
JD is on his way to visit people that he knows, specifically Nate, but he would like to run into everyone he knows. Flagg is in power. Everything seems safer somehow, or maybe that's just the protective imaginary world that he's been living in for almost two months straight. Nothing can touch him. He's got that sticker on his ass, again. 'Honk for Flagg' and people keep honking, which means not only are there a lot of Flagg supporters out there, but people keep checking out his ass and liking what they see enough to stick around and read the whole thing.
On the roof of the Conrad Hotel, Robin Rice is contemplating life, death, and abuse. And how much it would hurt to jump, but that last thought is certainly not new. He smokes and stares down at the street below. It's really time for him to get a grip, again. He can't afford to keep having these severe emotional moments that border on actual rage.
Later that night in the early morning hours at the Casa, Martha Jones has been on this side of the Rift for a year and seven months. She awoke sharply from a nightmare that she has often and never likes to think much about, but always prevents her from going back to sleep. Ever. She steps down the stairs and heads for the kitchen, pulling her hair back with a sigh.
One year and seven months. Everything's different...and still... everything's exactly the same.
Now he has to stand here and hope that someone who knows what he does stumbles upon him and needs to buy. He doesn't have the heart to convince some kid that the answer to the pain she feels over her parents' divorce is heroin- that he has the answers to all her pain for a price.
Luke Roberts is hanging out at the pier. He leans against the railing and stares out away from the city, sipping a bottle of milk in one hand. He's exhausted. For the first time in his life, he wants a vacation, but knows he couldn't last more than a day. For more than one reason.
Jamal Malik sprints down the sidewalks of Chicago with half of a hot dog in his hand. He may run into someone on his way. He keeps looking behind him. The camera swings heavily from his neck. Back and forth.
JD is on his way to visit people that he knows, specifically Nate, but he would like to run into everyone he knows. Flagg is in power. Everything seems safer somehow, or maybe that's just the protective imaginary world that he's been living in for almost two months straight. Nothing can touch him. He's got that sticker on his ass, again. 'Honk for Flagg' and people keep honking, which means not only are there a lot of Flagg supporters out there, but people keep checking out his ass and liking what they see enough to stick around and read the whole thing.
On the roof of the Conrad Hotel, Robin Rice is contemplating life, death, and abuse. And how much it would hurt to jump, but that last thought is certainly not new. He smokes and stares down at the street below. It's really time for him to get a grip, again. He can't afford to keep having these severe emotional moments that border on actual rage.
Later that night in the early morning hours at the Casa, Martha Jones has been on this side of the Rift for a year and seven months. She awoke sharply from a nightmare that she has often and never likes to think much about, but always prevents her from going back to sleep. Ever. She steps down the stairs and heads for the kitchen, pulling her hair back with a sigh.
One year and seven months. Everything's different...and still... everything's exactly the same.