(Untitled)
Seymour considers staying in Milliways for a few days to heal up. He can't go on like this.
Especially when Mr. Mushnik keeps ordering him to do the same menial tasks he's always done. You think he could show a little consideration!
...But a job is a job. And it's for the flowers. That thought isn't as soothing as it normally is. There are things ( Read more... )
Especially when Mr. Mushnik keeps ordering him to do the same menial tasks he's always done. You think he could show a little consideration!
...But a job is a job. And it's for the flowers. That thought isn't as soothing as it normally is. There are things ( Read more... )
Comments 21
And with a solid THUD, a motorcycle lands in the alley barely four feet from where Seymour's standing. The leather-clad man riding it kills the engine and dismounts.
The man doesn't quite look like your typical greaser. He's a bit old for it, for one thing--at least thirty, if not older. For another, he just pulled something out of his pocket, stuck it up his nose, inhaled deeply, and burst out into another gale of high, manic laughter.
When he's done with... whatever-it-was... he puts it away and strolls toward the open shop door, ignoring Seymour completely.
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He drags his attention back to the man when he approaches the door. "Excuse me, sir, you can't go in there--"
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