Huh.
I have a humorous story of something that happened awhile back to share just to possibly brighten your day a bit:
The one thing you don't want to hear the driver yell on your first day on a new school bus: "Bobby! Put that lighter away!"
Yes, that really did happen to me.
My speed_rent entry, if you wish to read:
Watch Where You're Going
--
Roger walked the cold, New York City streets towards his apartment. He pulled his old leather jacket tighter around himself and readjusted his guitar, slung around his shoulder, as he hurried home.
One block away, though, something - or, rather, someone - collided with his shins. He brushed it off and continued on his way until he heard the pained sobs of a child. Sighing, he internally debated on whether to turn back.
The cries’ increase in volume made the decision for him, and he retraced his steps, finding himself kneeling beside a small, red-headed boy. As he examined the child’s skinned knee, he began second-guessing his choice. He never spent any time around kids. Hell, he didn’t even like kids! They were small, loud, obnoxious, and their hands were always sticky. What was up with that, anyway?
Roger shook his head. “Come with me.” He helped the boy to his feet and led him around the corner to the loft. After helping the child up the stairs, he ushered him into the apartment. “Hey, guys?” he called.
Mark appeared from the kitchen. “Yeah, Rog?”
“Uh, do we have any band-aids?”
Noticing the boy standing beside his roommate, Mark’s eyes widened in surprise. “Who’s that?”
“I… don’t know.” Roger turned to the child, his head cocked slightly. “Who are you?”
“Billy.” The boy stated simply, looking up at the musician. “Billy Westhouse.”
Mark turned to their guest. “Billy, I’m gonna talk to Roger for a second, okay? We’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” The boy stood awkward and confused in the center of the room as Mark dragged Roger into a concealed corner of the loft.
“What the hell, Roger?”
“He ran into me and fell down.” Roger stated matter-of-factly. “He hurt his knee. I just thought…”
“You can’t go around taking kids off the street!” They were in deep shit, and Mark knew it.
“What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to take him home. Not here!” Roger sighed and put his face in his hands. “Go!” Mark shoved a box of band-aids into his roommate hands and shooed him back into the living room.
Mark watched on as Roger made an attempt to bandage the kid’s knee, trying not to laugh. And he followed close behind Roger as Billy led him towards his home.
As Roger retreated down the front steps after reuniting the child with his mother, he scowled at the amused look on Mark’s face. “What?”
“Nothing. Let’s go home.” They began the trek back towards the loft. “Just… watch where you’re going this time.”
--
End
And major props to those who can name the movie and/or television show I referenced in this fic! :)
You know what? I've been listening to a lot of RENT lately. And in the NYTW version, I've come to a couple realizations:
-Benny was high
-Roger was stoned
-Daphne Rubin-Vega sounded better than in the OBC version. How can someone's singing get worse over two years?
-I like this Collins better. I don't know why.
-Why did they cut some of those songs? I liked them.
Enough of my RENT nerdiness.
Adios, amigas! I should probably get around to that To Kill A Mockingbird homework, shouldn't I? Grr.
-Krystal
The one thing you don't want to hear the driver yell on your first day on a new school bus: "Bobby! Put that lighter away!"
Yes, that really did happen to me.
My speed_rent entry, if you wish to read:
Watch Where You're Going
--
Roger walked the cold, New York City streets towards his apartment. He pulled his old leather jacket tighter around himself and readjusted his guitar, slung around his shoulder, as he hurried home.
One block away, though, something - or, rather, someone - collided with his shins. He brushed it off and continued on his way until he heard the pained sobs of a child. Sighing, he internally debated on whether to turn back.
The cries’ increase in volume made the decision for him, and he retraced his steps, finding himself kneeling beside a small, red-headed boy. As he examined the child’s skinned knee, he began second-guessing his choice. He never spent any time around kids. Hell, he didn’t even like kids! They were small, loud, obnoxious, and their hands were always sticky. What was up with that, anyway?
Roger shook his head. “Come with me.” He helped the boy to his feet and led him around the corner to the loft. After helping the child up the stairs, he ushered him into the apartment. “Hey, guys?” he called.
Mark appeared from the kitchen. “Yeah, Rog?”
“Uh, do we have any band-aids?”
Noticing the boy standing beside his roommate, Mark’s eyes widened in surprise. “Who’s that?”
“I… don’t know.” Roger turned to the child, his head cocked slightly. “Who are you?”
“Billy.” The boy stated simply, looking up at the musician. “Billy Westhouse.”
Mark turned to their guest. “Billy, I’m gonna talk to Roger for a second, okay? We’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” The boy stood awkward and confused in the center of the room as Mark dragged Roger into a concealed corner of the loft.
“What the hell, Roger?”
“He ran into me and fell down.” Roger stated matter-of-factly. “He hurt his knee. I just thought…”
“You can’t go around taking kids off the street!” They were in deep shit, and Mark knew it.
“What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to take him home. Not here!” Roger sighed and put his face in his hands. “Go!” Mark shoved a box of band-aids into his roommate hands and shooed him back into the living room.
Mark watched on as Roger made an attempt to bandage the kid’s knee, trying not to laugh. And he followed close behind Roger as Billy led him towards his home.
As Roger retreated down the front steps after reuniting the child with his mother, he scowled at the amused look on Mark’s face. “What?”
“Nothing. Let’s go home.” They began the trek back towards the loft. “Just… watch where you’re going this time.”
--
End
And major props to those who can name the movie and/or television show I referenced in this fic! :)
You know what? I've been listening to a lot of RENT lately. And in the NYTW version, I've come to a couple realizations:
-Benny was high
-Roger was stoned
-Daphne Rubin-Vega sounded better than in the OBC version. How can someone's singing get worse over two years?
-I like this Collins better. I don't know why.
-Why did they cut some of those songs? I liked them.
Enough of my RENT nerdiness.
Adios, amigas! I should probably get around to that To Kill A Mockingbird homework, shouldn't I? Grr.
-Krystal