(no subject)
Bob's slacks are beginning to get worn out. They've frayed at the bottom, one of the belt loops has come straight off, there are holes in both knees, and they're riddled in stains that Bob doubts even his mother would be able to clear. If they were still in Toronto, he'd have other pairs to choose from or he could go shopping for new ones. Maybe David would give him a gift certificate for The Hudson Bay Company like he did for Christmas three years ago. It was a nice gift and Bob bought three pairs of slacks with it.
But, here there is no Hudson Bay Company. There are no gift certificates either or any places to buy new clothing. There's a laundry room, and Bob's used it when he's had to, when David's threatened to make him sleep outside because of the stench.
He's also seen the box. He's seen the kinds of clothes it gives out and none of them have ever seemed pleasant in Bob's opinion. David's certainly had a few words about them. There isn't anything in the box that Bob can imagine himself wearing back home Or wearing here, either. At all.
So, his lips tugged into a deep frown, Bob stands over the box, staring down into it as his fingers tug at the fabric of his pants. He needs to change them, he knows. They're worn and stained and falling apart and if he tries to wash them even one more time, they're may be nothing left of them. But, taking an item from the box feels like giving in somehow, like accepting that they're well and truly stuck here. Plus, he just doesn't want to wear anything it'd offer. Bob likes his clothes. They come from home and they're his and they suit him. Nothing the box gives him will suit him, he knows.
Tentatively, he bends and reaches in, pulling out the bright yellow piece on top. They're pants, at least. Flared.
His frown deepens. They really need to get home.
But, here there is no Hudson Bay Company. There are no gift certificates either or any places to buy new clothing. There's a laundry room, and Bob's used it when he's had to, when David's threatened to make him sleep outside because of the stench.
He's also seen the box. He's seen the kinds of clothes it gives out and none of them have ever seemed pleasant in Bob's opinion. David's certainly had a few words about them. There isn't anything in the box that Bob can imagine himself wearing back home Or wearing here, either. At all.
So, his lips tugged into a deep frown, Bob stands over the box, staring down into it as his fingers tug at the fabric of his pants. He needs to change them, he knows. They're worn and stained and falling apart and if he tries to wash them even one more time, they're may be nothing left of them. But, taking an item from the box feels like giving in somehow, like accepting that they're well and truly stuck here. Plus, he just doesn't want to wear anything it'd offer. Bob likes his clothes. They come from home and they're his and they suit him. Nothing the box gives him will suit him, he knows.
Tentatively, he bends and reaches in, pulling out the bright yellow piece on top. They're pants, at least. Flared.
His frown deepens. They really need to get home.