Living Manhattan.
Frank.
Frank was immensely tired, and for no reason at all. But when you're living off a trust fund, there really isn't much left to do other than watch TV and blow your money off on things you know you'll regret later.
His eyes were heavy and his throat was sore and his entire body ached, but he wouldn't be able to sleep even if he tried. Two cats were causing an explosion of noise next door, Frank wondered aloud to himself why cats of all things had to be the pet that every apartment building was filled with. What about goldfish? They wouldn't keep him awake at night, at least.
Frank's body let out a shiver in response to the chill wind that came running around the room. Cursing silently at the damn heater that refused to provide him with, well, heat, Frank got up from the couch and headed towards it.
He turned the heater on to full blast, and when he did so, it gave an absolutely terrible grunt that caused sparks to fly and smoke to come out.
"DAMN IT!" Frank kicked the heater as if that would make it work again, but all it did was make it stop working completely. I'm living of a fucking trust fund, and I can't get enough money to have a decent heater?
Against his better judgment, Frank opened the apartment windows to let the smoke out. The room already smelled terrible anyway, and opening the windows would just make the apartment colder. But I've always done things against my better judgment, so why start now?
Frank grabbed a pizza box from the fridge that could have been, for all he knew, a week or so old. But he didn't care, all he knew was that he was hungry and his growling stomach was reminding him of that fact.
He shoved it into the microwave, without actually thinking about whether or not putting an enormous pizza box into a 300 degrees microwave was the best idea.
He flipped on the TV which just so happened to be on the News Channel which just so happened to be reporting about a taxi collision which Gerard, as it just so happened, was covering. We live in a weird world.
In actuality, Frank didn't know whether he should envy Gerard for having a good job, or whether he should pity him for actually having to work for money. But either way, Gerard's life was still that much less complicated than his.
People think it's so easy playing the part of the rich, lazy bum living with his best friend when it's not because people look down on you, and make you feel like you're not worth anything and that you can't do anything and...
Frank sniffed the air, and the much-too-familiar smell of smoke is what rose to his nostrils. I thought I had let all the smoke out, already. He once again headed for the window when he realized that his broken heater had nothing to do with what he smelled.
Oh, shit.
He ran towards the kitchen and pulled open the microwave door, which then bellowed out an insanely huge amount of black smoke that made Frank cough, cough, cough, cough.
Then suddenly the door flew open, and in came Gerard. "What the hell is that smell?"
Frank waved away the smoke from his face, still coughing. "Isn't it obvious?" Frank asked, shutting the kitchen door closed. Screw the windows. "Gerard, the next time I attempt to use the kitchen, remind me that I don't want to die just yet."
His eyes were heavy and his throat was sore and his entire body ached, but he wouldn't be able to sleep even if he tried. Two cats were causing an explosion of noise next door, Frank wondered aloud to himself why cats of all things had to be the pet that every apartment building was filled with. What about goldfish? They wouldn't keep him awake at night, at least.
Frank's body let out a shiver in response to the chill wind that came running around the room. Cursing silently at the damn heater that refused to provide him with, well, heat, Frank got up from the couch and headed towards it.
He turned the heater on to full blast, and when he did so, it gave an absolutely terrible grunt that caused sparks to fly and smoke to come out.
"DAMN IT!" Frank kicked the heater as if that would make it work again, but all it did was make it stop working completely. I'm living of a fucking trust fund, and I can't get enough money to have a decent heater?
Against his better judgment, Frank opened the apartment windows to let the smoke out. The room already smelled terrible anyway, and opening the windows would just make the apartment colder. But I've always done things against my better judgment, so why start now?
Frank grabbed a pizza box from the fridge that could have been, for all he knew, a week or so old. But he didn't care, all he knew was that he was hungry and his growling stomach was reminding him of that fact.
He shoved it into the microwave, without actually thinking about whether or not putting an enormous pizza box into a 300 degrees microwave was the best idea.
He flipped on the TV which just so happened to be on the News Channel which just so happened to be reporting about a taxi collision which Gerard, as it just so happened, was covering. We live in a weird world.
In actuality, Frank didn't know whether he should envy Gerard for having a good job, or whether he should pity him for actually having to work for money. But either way, Gerard's life was still that much less complicated than his.
People think it's so easy playing the part of the rich, lazy bum living with his best friend when it's not because people look down on you, and make you feel like you're not worth anything and that you can't do anything and...
Frank sniffed the air, and the much-too-familiar smell of smoke is what rose to his nostrils. I thought I had let all the smoke out, already. He once again headed for the window when he realized that his broken heater had nothing to do with what he smelled.
Oh, shit.
He ran towards the kitchen and pulled open the microwave door, which then bellowed out an insanely huge amount of black smoke that made Frank cough, cough, cough, cough.
Then suddenly the door flew open, and in came Gerard. "What the hell is that smell?"
Frank waved away the smoke from his face, still coughing. "Isn't it obvious?" Frank asked, shutting the kitchen door closed. Screw the windows. "Gerard, the next time I attempt to use the kitchen, remind me that I don't want to die just yet."