Rhode Island Summer - Chapter 2
Alright people, I'm doing it. I'm forcing myself to get this summer fiction back underway. I made the unfortunate discovery before writing this chapter that I had a lot of ideas, but didn't really have anything in mind for the characters themselves. I've got a better handle on that now, so hopefully I can just make the rest up as I go along.
Brian O'Conner awoke to the obnoxious sounds of sports talk radio. He hated sports talk, which was why he had his clock radio alarm set to a sports talk station. Nothing was going to get him out of bed to shut it up faster.
Brian sat at the edge of his bed for nearly a full minute, then staggered across his bedroom to turn on his computer. It was instinct bred from four years in college, when he'd need to know important information first thing in the morning and his computer was the easiest way to find it. Just as well, because he found that he was barely capable of rational thought until about half an hour after he woke up.
Brian O'Conner was not a morning person.
The next thing he knew he was in the shower with near-scalding hot water pouring down on him. Brian often felt like his blood congealed in his veins as he slept, and the hot water was necessary to re-liquify it and get it pumping to his body again. The rational part of his mind, the one with a Bachelor's of Science in Marine Biology from the University of Rhode Island, told him that was ridiculous, that such a phenomenon would actually kill him. The other half, the part that was just now starting to wake up, told the rational side to shut the hell up.
Brian was your typical Rhode Island Irish-American young adult. He had moderately-long chestnut brown hair and the occasional patch of light freckles. He considered himself fairly ambivalent about his appearance, but also shaved religiously every morning, considering it something of a bad omen if he managed to miss any patches of facial hair. He wasn't sure which side of his mind that came from.
He threw on an old t-shirt and beat-up cargo pants and wandered downstairs to see what was left for breakfast. His apartment was a smallish beach house in Charlestown that he shared with the being that was loafing on the couch in the living room.
"Morning Joe. Getting started wasting space early today?" he greeted his roommate.
"You wish you were as productive as me," Joe Hinsdale replied as he flipped channels. Joe was, to be polite, a lazy individual. He could usually be found either lounging on the couch or on his computer, and was very rarely spotted actually walking between the two destinations. Brian had seen fatter men, but few people seemed to assimilate whatever they were sitting on like Joe. He had no idea what his roommate did while he was gone, but somehow his half of the rent and bills always came in on time.
They tolerated each other's existence, and the price for that tolerance was the constant stream of smart-ass comments they hurled at each other.
"Seriously, why are you up this early? And don't tell me it's for your job, because despite all the financial evidence I know that there's no way in hell you have one," Brian asked as he poured himself a bowl of Cheerios.
"Sarah's coming over in a bit, and we're going to watch some movies, maybe get some lunch, maybe have some sex on this very couch," Joe answered, patting the sofa and shooting a knowing look at Brian. The sex comment was aimed directly at Brian, because while he had a girlfriend of his own, Janet had gotten progressively "busier" as time had gone by and only made an appearance once in a while. Joe liked to tell Brian that he only had a girlfriend on paper.
"So basically, I'm going to have to buy a new couch today, because that one will definitely be broken," Brian snapped, knowing that he'd lost this round. Anything as obvious as making fun of Joe's weight was a cop-out, and Joe knew it.
"Sticks and stones, roommate," he said through a satisfied smirk as he turned back around to face the TV.
Brian stared blankly at the fish tank across the room as he ate his breakfast. Dr. Impossible, his pet green crab, stared back at him, clicking its claws. Brian liked having a pet crab. It stayed in its tank and ate leftovers, giving it the best qualities of both a goldfish and a dog. Brian grabbed a piece of leftover sausage out of the fridge as he walked by to put his bowl in the sink, and flicked it into the tank. Dr. Impossible waited for it to sink, its claws outstretched as if accepting mana from heaven. Finally, the piece of old meat made it down to the hungry crustacean, who snatched it up and scurried under its rock to frenziedly pick the prize apart.
"Hey, are you ever going to get a new filter for that tank? You know Sarah hates the sound of that one," Joe chimed in.
"Sarah can have a say in Dr. Impossible's tank when she starts actually paying rent," Brian retorted, and stepped out the door. "I'll see you this afternoon."
"Yeah, peace out and all that shit," Joe said, never taking his eyes off the television.
Ah, another day in paradise, Brian though cynically as he stepped into the inviting early summer air. He loved being in Rhode Island for the summer. Everything else in his life, however, was quickly becoming less satisfying.
Here's hoping this pile makes it all the way to work today, he thought as he slid into the driver's seat of his 1999 Dodge Intrepid. Impulstively, he reached up and felt around his Adam's apple. Sure enough, there was still some stubble there. Dammit.
Brian O'Conner awoke to the obnoxious sounds of sports talk radio. He hated sports talk, which was why he had his clock radio alarm set to a sports talk station. Nothing was going to get him out of bed to shut it up faster.
Brian sat at the edge of his bed for nearly a full minute, then staggered across his bedroom to turn on his computer. It was instinct bred from four years in college, when he'd need to know important information first thing in the morning and his computer was the easiest way to find it. Just as well, because he found that he was barely capable of rational thought until about half an hour after he woke up.
Brian O'Conner was not a morning person.
The next thing he knew he was in the shower with near-scalding hot water pouring down on him. Brian often felt like his blood congealed in his veins as he slept, and the hot water was necessary to re-liquify it and get it pumping to his body again. The rational part of his mind, the one with a Bachelor's of Science in Marine Biology from the University of Rhode Island, told him that was ridiculous, that such a phenomenon would actually kill him. The other half, the part that was just now starting to wake up, told the rational side to shut the hell up.
Brian was your typical Rhode Island Irish-American young adult. He had moderately-long chestnut brown hair and the occasional patch of light freckles. He considered himself fairly ambivalent about his appearance, but also shaved religiously every morning, considering it something of a bad omen if he managed to miss any patches of facial hair. He wasn't sure which side of his mind that came from.
He threw on an old t-shirt and beat-up cargo pants and wandered downstairs to see what was left for breakfast. His apartment was a smallish beach house in Charlestown that he shared with the being that was loafing on the couch in the living room.
"Morning Joe. Getting started wasting space early today?" he greeted his roommate.
"You wish you were as productive as me," Joe Hinsdale replied as he flipped channels. Joe was, to be polite, a lazy individual. He could usually be found either lounging on the couch or on his computer, and was very rarely spotted actually walking between the two destinations. Brian had seen fatter men, but few people seemed to assimilate whatever they were sitting on like Joe. He had no idea what his roommate did while he was gone, but somehow his half of the rent and bills always came in on time.
They tolerated each other's existence, and the price for that tolerance was the constant stream of smart-ass comments they hurled at each other.
"Seriously, why are you up this early? And don't tell me it's for your job, because despite all the financial evidence I know that there's no way in hell you have one," Brian asked as he poured himself a bowl of Cheerios.
"Sarah's coming over in a bit, and we're going to watch some movies, maybe get some lunch, maybe have some sex on this very couch," Joe answered, patting the sofa and shooting a knowing look at Brian. The sex comment was aimed directly at Brian, because while he had a girlfriend of his own, Janet had gotten progressively "busier" as time had gone by and only made an appearance once in a while. Joe liked to tell Brian that he only had a girlfriend on paper.
"So basically, I'm going to have to buy a new couch today, because that one will definitely be broken," Brian snapped, knowing that he'd lost this round. Anything as obvious as making fun of Joe's weight was a cop-out, and Joe knew it.
"Sticks and stones, roommate," he said through a satisfied smirk as he turned back around to face the TV.
Brian stared blankly at the fish tank across the room as he ate his breakfast. Dr. Impossible, his pet green crab, stared back at him, clicking its claws. Brian liked having a pet crab. It stayed in its tank and ate leftovers, giving it the best qualities of both a goldfish and a dog. Brian grabbed a piece of leftover sausage out of the fridge as he walked by to put his bowl in the sink, and flicked it into the tank. Dr. Impossible waited for it to sink, its claws outstretched as if accepting mana from heaven. Finally, the piece of old meat made it down to the hungry crustacean, who snatched it up and scurried under its rock to frenziedly pick the prize apart.
"Hey, are you ever going to get a new filter for that tank? You know Sarah hates the sound of that one," Joe chimed in.
"Sarah can have a say in Dr. Impossible's tank when she starts actually paying rent," Brian retorted, and stepped out the door. "I'll see you this afternoon."
"Yeah, peace out and all that shit," Joe said, never taking his eyes off the television.
Ah, another day in paradise, Brian though cynically as he stepped into the inviting early summer air. He loved being in Rhode Island for the summer. Everything else in his life, however, was quickly becoming less satisfying.
Here's hoping this pile makes it all the way to work today, he thought as he slid into the driver's seat of his 1999 Dodge Intrepid. Impulstively, he reached up and felt around his Adam's apple. Sure enough, there was still some stubble there. Dammit.