(no subject)
goodbye Joe, me gotta go
me-oh-my-o
me gotta go pole the pirogue
down the bayou
my Yvonne, the sweetest one
me-oh-my-o
son of a gun, we'll have big fun
on the bayou
The rec room is empty except for Scott. That doesn't happen often, at least not when he's usually around and about, but it's very late. Really, it's morning. The Last Picture Show is on, filling the room with the flickering shadows of young Sonny and Duane in the pool hall and the warbling tones of Hank Williams.
Of all the places to go on the island, this one is the last he would've expected to haunt. Sure, Scott likes his books and movies, and having the kitchen nearby is handy, but really, when he reads, Scott likes to close the door on the world. Reading in bed's the best. Second only to one other activity he can think of. But he's spent the better part of this week curled up on the rec room couch, sometimes being friendly, sometimes, admittedly, pretending not to notice when people come in. Sometime he really doesn't notice. He sits there for long hours, sometimes drinking coffee, sometimes something stronger, rubbing at the beginnings of a beard and gnawing at his fingernails. The bookshelf keeps him busy-- Scott's always fancied himself a writer who writes, by god, but this Stephen King guy makes Scott look like he's just been puttering for the last twenty years. Scott's read better than a dozen of them, and he reckons he's got dozens to go.
Thankfully, when he got to the rec room tonight, the bookshelf was more insistent on a reel. When Scott pulled it out, he wasn't surprised in the least. It's his favorite movie, and he hasn't seen it in more than a year. It's the perfect antidote to insomnia-- or, it's a good consolation prize for insomnia, anyway--and so Scott parks his boxered butt on the couch and watches, heedless of the hour.
Every insomniac deserves a nightcap, and every insomniac writer deserves three, Scott reasons, so he brought along the bottle of berry-flavored hooch that Alain and Cuthbert presented them with in exchange for Lisey's contributions to their Midsummer fair. He was looking through the bottom of the bottle even before Sonny broke up with Charlene.
me-oh-my-o
me gotta go pole the pirogue
down the bayou
my Yvonne, the sweetest one
me-oh-my-o
son of a gun, we'll have big fun
on the bayou
The rec room is empty except for Scott. That doesn't happen often, at least not when he's usually around and about, but it's very late. Really, it's morning. The Last Picture Show is on, filling the room with the flickering shadows of young Sonny and Duane in the pool hall and the warbling tones of Hank Williams.
Of all the places to go on the island, this one is the last he would've expected to haunt. Sure, Scott likes his books and movies, and having the kitchen nearby is handy, but really, when he reads, Scott likes to close the door on the world. Reading in bed's the best. Second only to one other activity he can think of. But he's spent the better part of this week curled up on the rec room couch, sometimes being friendly, sometimes, admittedly, pretending not to notice when people come in. Sometime he really doesn't notice. He sits there for long hours, sometimes drinking coffee, sometimes something stronger, rubbing at the beginnings of a beard and gnawing at his fingernails. The bookshelf keeps him busy-- Scott's always fancied himself a writer who writes, by god, but this Stephen King guy makes Scott look like he's just been puttering for the last twenty years. Scott's read better than a dozen of them, and he reckons he's got dozens to go.
Thankfully, when he got to the rec room tonight, the bookshelf was more insistent on a reel. When Scott pulled it out, he wasn't surprised in the least. It's his favorite movie, and he hasn't seen it in more than a year. It's the perfect antidote to insomnia-- or, it's a good consolation prize for insomnia, anyway--and so Scott parks his boxered butt on the couch and watches, heedless of the hour.
Every insomniac deserves a nightcap, and every insomniac writer deserves three, Scott reasons, so he brought along the bottle of berry-flavored hooch that Alain and Cuthbert presented them with in exchange for Lisey's contributions to their Midsummer fair. He was looking through the bottom of the bottle even before Sonny broke up with Charlene.