"keith laid there, feeling particularly victorious. the girl in front of him was a suitor of many, and who should be so lucky as to land angie dupont?"
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prequel to dead flowers
Ουπς! Αυτή η εικόνα δεν ακολουθεί τους κανόνες περιεχομένου. Για να συνεχίσεις με την δημοσίευση, παρακαλώ αφαίρεσε την ή ανέβασε διαφορετική εικόνα.
misfits at the beach
"You've been sleeping in a field, But you look well rested; You say your image is new, But it looks well tested You're lost without a crowd, Yet you go your own way" MISFITS - THE KINKS
The most expensive thing Andrew owned had to be the watch that belonged to his father. There were many a times they were about to lose the house where Shannon and him had gotten into a row about selling it, always ending with him in a bar some place, drunk off his arse and angry..
Shannon was a bubbly drunk. The happy sort that clinged to your arm, giggled a lot, and danced with the strange tendency to rip off her clothes and hop on tables barefoot. Andrew thought these were the best type of drunks, if there was even a good one. He was the one that got loud, cocky, and- Shannon had warned him enough- scary. He walked with a swagger unlike hinself, acting so like a man ("Oi, 'ave you seen the size of her tits? I'd give a tug to that ol' set anyday!") that Shannon and her group of friends were disgusted. Eventually, somebody would either tell him off or look at him the wrong way, and he'd bust a bottle over their head, or throw a barstool at them. He'd get kicked out, he'd stumble underneath Shannon's arm, blood in his mouth and hair and overwhelming feeling of shame even whiskey couldn't numb completely.
So, he supposed it was hard to find many postivtives to drinking the way he did, but he liked the feeling being drunk gave him, besides that anger, so there were just some things you'd have to bloody deal with, weren't there?! Jesus...
He knew Shannon was at home, tending to baby Andy- he still had trouble seeing that kid with his name. The little fucker cried all the time, his big blue eyes like weepy sirens, so really, Andrew couldn't help but run to the bar! It wasn't his fault, really!
Andy had only been home for a couple weeks or so. Andrew was looking forward to the child's return; he didn't want to wait any longer, not with the sobbing Shannon on his shoulder, and then later, when she got paranoid, shouting and screaming about how Gabriel's demons had taken her baby, or something like that... Andrew had never tried to understand, because the doctor had said feeding in the illusions or whatever made the bipolar disorder worse, but still, it felt incredibly heartless to lock the bedroom from the outside. Her tiny fingers- too small for her own good, just like the rest of her- snaked under the door, reaching for his hand, and it was all he could do was cradle his knees and tell himself, under NO circumstances, would he cry. That was not manly; nobody cares when a man cries.
His mental anguish must have been obvious, because the old man snorted beside him, and, once Andrew looked up, shook his head, "It's all bollocks, isn't it?"
