S.T. groaned and pulled the sheets over his head. He pretended not to listen as Landel rambled his way through something slightly more predictable and more useless than a radio traffic update. Pancakes, a pileup on Soldier's Field. Lies covering up murder and malpractice, gridlock shading to the cheapest parking in Boston where the 'Pike hit 93.
Same old, same old. Or there really was an outbreak of Norovirus, in which case it was projectile vomiting for everyone. Which he wouldn't wish on his own worst enemy. Or -- naah. If Landel was going to be puking anywhere it was going to be because S.T. had just punched him in the gut.
"Guess it's time to face the maple syrup." The nurse looked at him like she didn't understand English, which was how most people looked at S.T. before he'd had his first cup of coffee in the mornings.
It was real maple syrup. Huh. And bacon. "Coffee?" Single words seemed to filter through OK., though they didn't get him a cup. Something about seniority, and a tap on his concert re-admission bracelet. There were several empty slots between the shiny gold-foil stickers that would make him the envy of every kindergarten playground. "Coffee?" he said, again, tapping the space. Well, that was new.
There didn't seem to be any torture chambers or other actively recruiting traumatic experiences open during the day, so he gave up and grabbed some non-caffeinated breakfast.
no subject
Same old, same old. Or there really was an outbreak of Norovirus, in which case it was projectile vomiting for everyone. Which he wouldn't wish on his own worst enemy. Or -- naah. If Landel was going to be puking anywhere it was going to be because S.T. had just punched him in the gut.
"Guess it's time to face the maple syrup." The nurse looked at him like she didn't understand English, which was how most people looked at S.T. before he'd had his first cup of coffee in the mornings.
It was real maple syrup. Huh. And bacon. "Coffee?" Single words seemed to filter through OK., though they didn't get him a cup. Something about seniority, and a tap on his concert re-admission bracelet. There were several empty slots between the shiny gold-foil stickers that would make him the envy of every kindergarten playground. "Coffee?" he said, again, tapping the space. Well, that was new.
There didn't seem to be any torture chambers or other actively recruiting traumatic experiences open during the day, so he gave up and grabbed some non-caffeinated breakfast.
[Free!]