[So, Thursday rolls by, then Friday, then Saturday, with no word from Scout. OK, admit it, you're probably not looking for him, or want to talk to him, but that doesn't mean that he's not usually annoying people and/or making a spectacle of himself in one way or another. It's been all quiet around 1451 Mitchell for a few days now ( Read more... )

[Call to the town, filtered to all non-drones. Scout sounds REALLY unhappy, and tired.]

...Guys. Party's postponed. Maybe like tomorrow. 'R Friday. Whatevah. But it will fuckin' happen. Best believe it will.

Agh--! Geez. Can anyone out there set a broken bone? Fuckin' Mayfield.... hate this place so goddamn much.... [He starts fading ( Read more... )

[Scout grabs the mail on his way to work, and sees the tax forms. He bursts out laughing.

To no one in particular:]

HAHAHA! YEAH, RIGHT! Nice try, jackasses!

[He gleefully balls up the forms and tosses them on the sidewalk, and off he goes on his merry way, still chuckling.]