(no subject)
Sands kicks the door shut behind him, slips the key back into his pocket, and walks right into a table. It wobbles dangerously and a vase falls over.
“Fuck!” he hisses, flicking the lights on and mopping up the water with the edge of his sleeve. It’s a bit of a lost cause.
Leaving the carpet to its soggy fate, Sands snatches up the mail (only a little damp) and makes a strategic retreat to the kitchen. A quick sift through it as the kettle boils turns up a whole lot of bills and not much else.
He pours himself a cup- black, with sugar- and sticks his head around the bedroom door. “I made coffee.”
“Fuck!” he hisses, flicking the lights on and mopping up the water with the edge of his sleeve. It’s a bit of a lost cause.
Leaving the carpet to its soggy fate, Sands snatches up the mail (only a little damp) and makes a strategic retreat to the kitchen. A quick sift through it as the kettle boils turns up a whole lot of bills and not much else.
He pours himself a cup- black, with sugar- and sticks his head around the bedroom door. “I made coffee.”