you got to go through hell before you get to heaven.
It was a good day to be Josh Lyman. In Josh's opinion, it was always a good day to be him, but for some reason he felt good. Like he'd just pushed through some legislature he'd been slaving over, and it would make a real difference. He had spent the morning being productive, going over some notes he had dug out of his bag and poring over the texts the bookshelf had deigned to give him. On top of the productivity, he got off his pasty Jewish ass, going for a run through the jungle and down the beach without dying of a heart attack.
And now, having showered and digging out a fresh pair of jeans and shirt from the clothes box, he had managed to dig up a bottle of wine and some cold pasta that someone had kindly left over. He was leaning against the counter, barefoot and content, a bowl of half-eaten pasta with some kind of sauce in his hand and a glass of wine next to him on the counter. He could hear the jukebox in the distance, and a fond smile spread across his face. Sometimes, this place started to feel like home, and today was one of those days.
Today? Was definitely a good day to be Josh Lyman.
[ooc: come one, come all. Josh is in a great mood.]
And now, having showered and digging out a fresh pair of jeans and shirt from the clothes box, he had managed to dig up a bottle of wine and some cold pasta that someone had kindly left over. He was leaning against the counter, barefoot and content, a bowl of half-eaten pasta with some kind of sauce in his hand and a glass of wine next to him on the counter. He could hear the jukebox in the distance, and a fond smile spread across his face. Sometimes, this place started to feel like home, and today was one of those days.
Today? Was definitely a good day to be Josh Lyman.
[ooc: come one, come all. Josh is in a great mood.]