(no subject)
At some point without quite realising it, Nicholas has become quite the horticulturist, at least as far as cannabis is concerned. With little else to occupy him, what started as a casual plot behind his hut for the purposes of providing the clinics with a steady supply of medical marijuana has become a full-fledged hobby. Cultivating and harvesting plants with a medical use is infinitely more rewarding an activity than he ever could have guessed.
This is why, then, instead of skulking about the second clinic, he's tilled up a little plot of earth behind it and is there on dirtied knees now, carefully transplanting one of his prize marijuana hybrids next to a row of aloe. The day is cool and cloudy, perfect for playing in the dirt as the monkeys chatter at him from overhead. Tacked to the front door is a note scrawled in his untidy hand, directing visitors around back or to simply scream if the situation merits it. It's probably tempting fate, that, but Nicholas reckons everyday island life is a crap shoot regardless.
Sitting back, hands and face and knees streaked dark with soil, he considers the trade-off for a mostly serene and prosperous life. Having his girlfriend occasionally become a tart seems fair when he considers it against the bigger island picture, and he has to wonder why he still finds it unnerving to think of, why even a week later it's niggling at the back of his mind, an itch he can't quite scratch.
This is why, then, instead of skulking about the second clinic, he's tilled up a little plot of earth behind it and is there on dirtied knees now, carefully transplanting one of his prize marijuana hybrids next to a row of aloe. The day is cool and cloudy, perfect for playing in the dirt as the monkeys chatter at him from overhead. Tacked to the front door is a note scrawled in his untidy hand, directing visitors around back or to simply scream if the situation merits it. It's probably tempting fate, that, but Nicholas reckons everyday island life is a crap shoot regardless.
Sitting back, hands and face and knees streaked dark with soil, he considers the trade-off for a mostly serene and prosperous life. Having his girlfriend occasionally become a tart seems fair when he considers it against the bigger island picture, and he has to wonder why he still finds it unnerving to think of, why even a week later it's niggling at the back of his mind, an itch he can't quite scratch.