Tomato boy and his accomplices
Edgar | Tomato Boy
Edgar
[Tomato Boy]
He is hurt.
His shoulder bleeds, the tiny needle must have hit an arteries he thinks, but he can't feel any pain, so it doesn't seem to matter. And the warmth of the blood is soaking into his shirt and warming him, which seems ludicrous. How could he have been so cold in the first place, if his insides were as warm as that? Surely Fear girl's blood wasn't that warm-she was so white, she was almost blue. She was so cold, he'd felt her icy hands. Shivering, he remembered them touching him, he'd recoiled they were so cold little icy hands with bitten down nails and the little tattoo of the snake, twining around her thump. The tattoo had surprised him, it didn't seem like her somehow.....
He's thinking all this, thinking and thinking an not watching where he's going, he knows his way to the bus stop, he could find it sleep-walking blindfolded, doing a handstand, just following a trail of crumbs. He just needs to concentrate on something, anything, other than the fact he knows that Fat is going to fire him, that five years work means nothing in a world where backpackers are always abundant and able to work cheaply. He just closes his eyes and staggers onto the road as he's suddenly stumbles into a group of mean looking hookers [out a bit early aren't you girls?] and is shoved into the middle of the road- just another worthless bum. He opened his eyes to the dull smoggy light, the broken buildings on either side of him look hauntingly desolate, and it strikes him how artistic it all looks- the cars swirling slowly around him, beeping at him, cursing at him, farting enough exhaust to choke him, the hookers, standing there, amazed he hadn't been hit, the sus looking guy heading down the road towards the hookers, the bum in the middle of the street about to be hit by a massive car that was more suited to climbing up vertical cliffs than the peacefulness of inner city driving...
shit.
[Tomato Boy]
He is hurt.
His shoulder bleeds, the tiny needle must have hit an arteries he thinks, but he can't feel any pain, so it doesn't seem to matter. And the warmth of the blood is soaking into his shirt and warming him, which seems ludicrous. How could he have been so cold in the first place, if his insides were as warm as that? Surely Fear girl's blood wasn't that warm-she was so white, she was almost blue. She was so cold, he'd felt her icy hands. Shivering, he remembered them touching him, he'd recoiled they were so cold little icy hands with bitten down nails and the little tattoo of the snake, twining around her thump. The tattoo had surprised him, it didn't seem like her somehow.....
He's thinking all this, thinking and thinking an not watching where he's going, he knows his way to the bus stop, he could find it sleep-walking blindfolded, doing a handstand, just following a trail of crumbs. He just needs to concentrate on something, anything, other than the fact he knows that Fat is going to fire him, that five years work means nothing in a world where backpackers are always abundant and able to work cheaply. He just closes his eyes and staggers onto the road as he's suddenly stumbles into a group of mean looking hookers [out a bit early aren't you girls?] and is shoved into the middle of the road- just another worthless bum. He opened his eyes to the dull smoggy light, the broken buildings on either side of him look hauntingly desolate, and it strikes him how artistic it all looks- the cars swirling slowly around him, beeping at him, cursing at him, farting enough exhaust to choke him, the hookers, standing there, amazed he hadn't been hit, the sus looking guy heading down the road towards the hookers, the bum in the middle of the street about to be hit by a massive car that was more suited to climbing up vertical cliffs than the peacefulness of inner city driving...
shit.