BFMG, Rough 1 I

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ink-in-water-amazing-wallpaper“No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible.”

-Stanislaw Jerzy Lec


The colorful glow of the ever changing screen danced black shadows across his face. A low murmur of distance music fills the place like a soft blanket. An old warping coffee table sits in the room’s center; covered in stains and burns. The panes of glass have long since been discarded leaving it a misleading wooden frame. The aged floor vent pours heat onto the cracking milky white tile. Dark pink upholstery, ripped and tattered, covers a hand-me-down couch pressed flush to the pale blue wall.

WHOOP!

DING!

CRASH!

He’s wearing a plain white shirt with an unbuttoned green plaid. His long dirty blonde hair tips off at his eyebrows just above two white spheres draped in murky green algae. His outfit is bottomed off with faded blue jeans, green and white checker board sneakers, a gray rope belt and rich olive green leather gloves.

Heh, he chuckles touching his lips to the cool glass rim of the bottle. He took a second swig as his phone began to chime.

“Sup?.. Not much just watching some TV…” there’s a long pause as the other end cascades information in a worried tone, “wait hold up what guy?.. well if he’s a friend why didn’t he pay you?.. How much does he owe you?” Tag sits up in his chair a little taken back “Jesus Christ! Why didn’t you collect it?!… Fuck! And Miguel needs the money by this weekend?.. yeah I could but why can’t I do it tomorrow?” there’s a beat as the other end explains, “fuck,” he inhales sharply mulling over the offer. He exhales. “Yeah that’s fine, what’s the address?..” he grabs a pen and paper from the coffee table and scribbles down some marks. “Fuck all the way out on 68 block… what’s his name?.. Edward… Alright just send me a picture… yeah I’ll take care of it, I’ll call you in about two hours,” he glances towards the clock, “So around midnight…  yeah don’t mention it.”

Tag hangs up the phone and sighs. He had no real plans to leave his apartment, it was a cold night in late December and the soft pink fabric was far more inviting. He rubbed his temple, there are very few people he’d do this for. He chugged the rest of his beer, put the paper in his pocket, and shut off the TV.

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