002. Done With These Days
The warm humidity of Liverpool was nearing the unbearable. How could it ever be this hot in August? In the Kingdom, no less. Cuba, maybe. Egypt, sure. But, not here. Cameron stood on the balcony of his loft, leaning on the iron railing to gaze down at the staggering crowds working the streets beneath him. Skurry, skurry. The heat slows the mans thoughts to a speed he normally shunned others for having. He’d never admit to his hypocritical state. Never.
Retreating back inside the loft, the blonde gathered onto the tan suede couch and sighed a deep, jaded sigh. His shaggy mane scrunched in his hand, head balanced on the heel of his palm as he stared blankly at the muted television. It was the Prime Minister’s birthday. “Happy Birthday, you old tosser.” Of course, it was slathered all over the news. Important people made for important stories, or so the public would believe.
Cameron grumbled, laying out on the expensive piece of furniture. Bored. Beyond bored. His life was in a state of limbo. These truly were the dog days of his career. Work hadn’t even been slow. It was just non-existent, and had been as such for almost an entire year.
The articles detailing the job in East Liverpool had faded completely from the papers and left little for the man to swim in. It was a poor job, anyways. His partner had done his job on minimal talent and it showed. The scene was dirty. The money was low. Even the targets had been mediocre. It was all so very disappointing in Cameron’s eyes. Well, that’s what he got for choosing a mediocre partner.
Sitting around and waiting for something to fall in his lap wasn’t going to cut it. His spare funds were running low and he wanted some excitement in his life that didn’t ask to be paid for after an hour.
Cameron stood and head into the bedroom to change into something decent and fashionable. Coming out, he swiped up his jacket and keys and headed for the door.
Tonight, these dog days would die.
Retreating back inside the loft, the blonde gathered onto the tan suede couch and sighed a deep, jaded sigh. His shaggy mane scrunched in his hand, head balanced on the heel of his palm as he stared blankly at the muted television. It was the Prime Minister’s birthday. “Happy Birthday, you old tosser.” Of course, it was slathered all over the news. Important people made for important stories, or so the public would believe.
Cameron grumbled, laying out on the expensive piece of furniture. Bored. Beyond bored. His life was in a state of limbo. These truly were the dog days of his career. Work hadn’t even been slow. It was just non-existent, and had been as such for almost an entire year.
The articles detailing the job in East Liverpool had faded completely from the papers and left little for the man to swim in. It was a poor job, anyways. His partner had done his job on minimal talent and it showed. The scene was dirty. The money was low. Even the targets had been mediocre. It was all so very disappointing in Cameron’s eyes. Well, that’s what he got for choosing a mediocre partner.
Sitting around and waiting for something to fall in his lap wasn’t going to cut it. His spare funds were running low and he wanted some excitement in his life that didn’t ask to be paid for after an hour.
Cameron stood and head into the bedroom to change into something decent and fashionable. Coming out, he swiped up his jacket and keys and headed for the door.
Tonight, these dog days would die.