(no subject)
For noasylumhere,
Five excuses Dean used when he didn't have his homework done in high school:
SUBJECT: History.
"Give me another day, I'll do it in Latin."
SUBJECT: Trig.
"Seriously, I draw a mean pentagram. Want me to show you?"
SUBJECT: English.
"Yeah, but I could tell you a real good story, if you want. Maybe after school? A young teacher like you probably sticks around for a while, right?"
SUBJECT: Chemistry.
"Nah, see, the thing about rock salt is you can't just swap it in for the regular kind, and it was all we had in the house. We, uh, we get a lot of snow out our way."
SUBJECT: Gym.
Dean wasn't about to ask his dad for fifty bucks to spend on another set of shorts, sweats and sneakers, this time in maroon and gold, go fuckin' Buccaneers.
Then again he wasn't gonna tell Coach Hass they were too broke, end up in some hand me down shit left behind by a graduating senior done doing time.
He sat on the bench for three periods, half a grade every day, Winchester, I'll pin a note to your shirt if I have to, no boy who can do the 100-yard dash in 20 seconds is gonna get out of pulling his weight on this piss-poor excuse for a team.
Then he walked into the Foot Locker downtown, long alley on one side and a blind corner on the other. Nothing too nice except the shoes. The acne-faced fourteen year old in a fake ref's uniform wandered off to hit on a girl with braces, and Dean ran like he had the devil on his heels.
Five excuses Dean used when he didn't have his homework done in high school:
SUBJECT: History.
"Give me another day, I'll do it in Latin."
SUBJECT: Trig.
"Seriously, I draw a mean pentagram. Want me to show you?"
SUBJECT: English.
"Yeah, but I could tell you a real good story, if you want. Maybe after school? A young teacher like you probably sticks around for a while, right?"
SUBJECT: Chemistry.
"Nah, see, the thing about rock salt is you can't just swap it in for the regular kind, and it was all we had in the house. We, uh, we get a lot of snow out our way."
SUBJECT: Gym.
Dean wasn't about to ask his dad for fifty bucks to spend on another set of shorts, sweats and sneakers, this time in maroon and gold, go fuckin' Buccaneers.
Then again he wasn't gonna tell Coach Hass they were too broke, end up in some hand me down shit left behind by a graduating senior done doing time.
He sat on the bench for three periods, half a grade every day, Winchester, I'll pin a note to your shirt if I have to, no boy who can do the 100-yard dash in 20 seconds is gonna get out of pulling his weight on this piss-poor excuse for a team.
Then he walked into the Foot Locker downtown, long alley on one side and a blind corner on the other. Nothing too nice except the shoes. The acne-faced fourteen year old in a fake ref's uniform wandered off to hit on a girl with braces, and Dean ran like he had the devil on his heels.