hopeless purpose (dreamnotfound)

fine lines

HA! // some nsfw implications towards the end, description of addiction

a bell chime jangles above the doorway, signifying the entrance of a rare soul entering the small dilapidated store.

the two look around at the stocked shelves of peculiar items, ranging from murky canned beans, to thrown away postcards that wish you farewell and safe travels through their shitty town.

even the postcards don't try to lie with their pictures. their town's depiction is not some beautiful, dazzling beach or an array of strong mountaintops. no, it's simply an image of some graffiti on a wall from the middle of the city with cursive loopy letters across the top to caption the ordinary sight.

nothing special about it all. just some brightly colored splotches that run down the bricks, washed away from the rain. it looks as if it used to be a cityscape mural, but of course groups of self expressive punk kids, and the homeless that honestly can't be blamed for its wreckage have over time distorted its creativity.

"oh, hello boys. long time no visit." the old man emerges from a back room, hobbling over with his wooden cane in hand and a jagged smile on his spotty face. no disdain present in his tone; he just seems glad to have visitors who have remembered him and his little store.

"hello!", the two of them greet, both walking over to lean against the counter as the man takes a seat in his swivel chair.

"so what can i do for you today?"

dream purses his lips and taps against the counter in thought. "nothing at all. just stopping by to say hello."

"ah, i see. well it's lovely to see you two still together", the man sighs happily.

a quick glance is passed between them at the insinuation that they were "together". because they weren't really, not entirely at least.

george doesn't let the statement linger for too much longer as he stands fully up and looks to dream. "do you want anything? it's on me this time", he adds, remembering the last time they'd been here how dream insisted on paying for it all.

the blonde begins to back away towards the slushee machine. "i do, but it's still not on you!" his voice fades out.

and so the attention is turned once again to the old man in the chair with a smile. "so how's life been treating you? any customers today?", george questions with hope that it hasn't been too quiet.

he wouldn't be able to stand it if it were him. knowing that the old man's one true love had passed on and now all he was left with would soon be taken away from him in ruthless silence at the hands of capitalism and corporations. of course he wouldn't put up a fight either because what's worth fighting over in those late stages after losing the only thing that seemed to truly matter?

"oh yes actually, i had a small group come in this morning looking for coffees. and i believe they left me a nice tip for no good reason. said it was their 'act of kindness for the day', that they're 'paying it forward'", he chuckles at the memory.

a genuine smile graces george's lips, feeling proud at the fact that there's perhaps still a semblance of faith in humanity.

"how very sweet of them", he responds.

the smile begins to fall as his deep brown eyes scan the shelves just beyond the counter. marlboro reds, menthol greens, pall mall's, camel lights, newport smooths, etc.

each one is like a little tin box of sugary sweet candy hearts to his eyes. they brings love hearts and all things good, but also the cravings and the tied along memories of all things bad.