Status: all done.
Last Night, We Dressed to Our Best.
one.
The depth intrigues me.
The umber color makes it all the more worthwhile.
Knowing the feeling of it's satisfaction is cruel.
I rest my chin down on the table, look it over top to bottom, and just stare at the bottom of the glass, letting time pass. I brush the rim with the tip of my index finger; not quite making it all the way around the edge of the glass, I stop to rest my arm. The breezy hum from the air conditioner is the only noise I can hear.
It's unusual being in a quiet environment, it strikes me as unnerving. I know I should probably be sitting and take a break right now. Still listless, I push myself up from the chair, for some god forsaken reason, and slug over to the living room window. I gently poke my nose through the red drapes, which I despise. They're made of an awful material, rough to the touch, and the intricate designs are too much for me.
Sheffield looks so quiet and innocent from above, it's belying. From this perspective, no one would ever believe any of those ridiculous stories that take place down below at night. I was pressed up against the glass, lost in my own thoughts when the doorbell rang and a voice came on the speaker box.
"Hey Oliver! You up yet?" it says. I step out from in front of the drapes and wander over to open the door.
"It was open, you know."
"But I didn't know, and you weren't sleeping, so that's why you opened the door for me." she says with a toothy grin. I can't help but laugh as she steps inside. Her wedges make a clamorous noise on the floor as she walks into the kitchen. Strangely, it comforts me. I smirk from the thought, causing her to turn around.
"What?" she questions. I wait for a while, thinking of a clever response, but I fail and just look up to meet her eyes. "Cat got your tongue?" I nod, and bite my tongue myself to keep from smiling. I finally catch up to her in the kitchen, noticing she brought over some lyrics from Matt. "Jesus," she stares at the table, then over at me. "You can't use the same glass each time you pour yourself another Carling?" she asks, collecting the glasses furiously, clanking them together.
"It's to keep track of how many I have. I thought it was a good idea."
"Idee-er?"
"Idea!"
"You said idee-er"
"Shut up!" I yell, still laughing.
"So you've had 4 then?" she asks me, revealing her milky teeth while trying not to laugh.
"Yes, but those are just from this morning."
"Oliver...it's only 10 o'clock."
The umber color makes it all the more worthwhile.
Knowing the feeling of it's satisfaction is cruel.
I rest my chin down on the table, look it over top to bottom, and just stare at the bottom of the glass, letting time pass. I brush the rim with the tip of my index finger; not quite making it all the way around the edge of the glass, I stop to rest my arm. The breezy hum from the air conditioner is the only noise I can hear.
It's unusual being in a quiet environment, it strikes me as unnerving. I know I should probably be sitting and take a break right now. Still listless, I push myself up from the chair, for some god forsaken reason, and slug over to the living room window. I gently poke my nose through the red drapes, which I despise. They're made of an awful material, rough to the touch, and the intricate designs are too much for me.
Sheffield looks so quiet and innocent from above, it's belying. From this perspective, no one would ever believe any of those ridiculous stories that take place down below at night. I was pressed up against the glass, lost in my own thoughts when the doorbell rang and a voice came on the speaker box.
"Hey Oliver! You up yet?" it says. I step out from in front of the drapes and wander over to open the door.
"It was open, you know."
"But I didn't know, and you weren't sleeping, so that's why you opened the door for me." she says with a toothy grin. I can't help but laugh as she steps inside. Her wedges make a clamorous noise on the floor as she walks into the kitchen. Strangely, it comforts me. I smirk from the thought, causing her to turn around.
"What?" she questions. I wait for a while, thinking of a clever response, but I fail and just look up to meet her eyes. "Cat got your tongue?" I nod, and bite my tongue myself to keep from smiling. I finally catch up to her in the kitchen, noticing she brought over some lyrics from Matt. "Jesus," she stares at the table, then over at me. "You can't use the same glass each time you pour yourself another Carling?" she asks, collecting the glasses furiously, clanking them together.
"It's to keep track of how many I have. I thought it was a good idea."
"Idee-er?"
"Idea!"
"You said idee-er"
"Shut up!" I yell, still laughing.
"So you've had 4 then?" she asks me, revealing her milky teeth while trying not to laugh.
"Yes, but those are just from this morning."
"Oliver...it's only 10 o'clock."
♠ ♠ ♠
I honestly don't like this story-wise, but I like it word choice-wise(:hah.