Day 50: Courtyard (3rd Shift)
Getting up before the 7-11s opened on Sunday was anathema to any right-thinking man. Sangamon Taylor was no exception. When he wasn't on a field trip to Nowheresville. Where the locals were unconvinced that the Pope was going to personally write them a strongly worded letter if they had fresh Coke with their pancakes. Moving from bed to couch was therefore a lofty achievement, one he was celebrating with a triumphant snore.
Until the couch started to lurch towards a giant screen. He squinted at the LaserDisc cover -- King Kong. Just because he'd voted for it, didn't mean he wanted to watch it. Like Jimmy Carter. Fake animal torture was only cool on MTV. He declined to assist the nurses aside from moving two hundred pounds of biomass off their hands under its own power, and cleared out.
The courtyard was quiet. He swung a leg over a bench, set his notebook down on the warm wood, and pulled out a half-drawn map. He pulled a pen out, uncapped it, and looked at the damn thing. What the fuck would it do? Get a rhythm going and they reprogrammed the fucking building. He laid back, put the map over his face, and worked on his skin cancer instead.
[Scarecrow]
Until the couch started to lurch towards a giant screen. He squinted at the LaserDisc cover -- King Kong. Just because he'd voted for it, didn't mean he wanted to watch it. Like Jimmy Carter. Fake animal torture was only cool on MTV. He declined to assist the nurses aside from moving two hundred pounds of biomass off their hands under its own power, and cleared out.
The courtyard was quiet. He swung a leg over a bench, set his notebook down on the warm wood, and pulled out a half-drawn map. He pulled a pen out, uncapped it, and looked at the damn thing. What the fuck would it do? Get a rhythm going and they reprogrammed the fucking building. He laid back, put the map over his face, and worked on his skin cancer instead.
[Scarecrow]