Early Morning, Kenton DE
Trevor is sitting on Corrine's porch, staring at her unconscious form through the living room's bay window and contemplating how many ways his present surroundings fail to compare to Club de Ruse's VIP room, where he had expected to be by now. Being out in the dark creeps the hell out of him, but nore more so than the house does when he's inside, so Trevor supposes that it doesn't make much difference. He's not sure the couch is the best place for Corrine to be resting, but after repeated attempts to move her or encourage her to move were met with cursing and clumsy swings in his general direction, Trevor is content to leave her where she is, curled up against one arm and covered in an afghan. Next to him is the ash bucket he found next to the fireplace and commandeered as an ashtray. Along with a quarter of a pack of cigarette butts, the bucket now contains the charred remains of his cell phone, and Trevor occasionally spares it a scowl as he flicks his ashes.
As Trevor flicks his latest cigarette into the can and stands to go back in, headlights wash over him and the porch.
"Finally."
As Trevor flicks his latest cigarette into the can and stands to go back in, headlights wash over him and the porch.
"Finally."