Room 402; Saturday Evening.
Despite the impending chilly weather, the windows of room 402 were as open as the door which meant only one thing. The inspirational streak that had flourished from the drama with Annette was continuing on strongly, and A.J. sat on a sheet in the corner of the room, surrounded by a plethora of media. Pant tubes and cans, brushes everywhere, pieces of scrap metal and construction paper and inks and pencils and...well, no glitter. Definitely no glitter. Currently, he stood with a pair of wire cutters, attempting to wrangle down some wires to put on the....thing he was working on, which looked like a coughed-up concoction of paint, metal, wire, and PCP piping.
A.J. was mostly convinced it was some of his best work to date. Mostly.
[[ door and post are oooopen; a bit of delicate subject matter discussed in the comments, just to be forewarned ]]
A.J. was mostly convinced it was some of his best work to date. Mostly.
[[ door and post are oooopen; a bit of delicate subject matter discussed in the comments, just to be forewarned ]]