Hotel- 3. (or, I replaced your orange juice with liquid LSD)
"Shit. Shit shit shit shit," cursed Jake. He threw his pen away from his drawing across the desk and ran outside.
The bum clearly had a head wound. It was bleeding a hell of a lot. He was completely laid up on his back. Pupils did not seem to be rolling back in his head. He was just out cold, with open eyes. And bleeding.
"Hi, 911? It looks like there's a transient passed out on the sidewalk connected to our property. He appears to have a really terrible head wound." Jake gave them the address. He hated dealing with crisis situations, though he had to do it on a fairly regular basis. It seemed like 15 minutes before the ambulance got there. He fumbled with the crumpled-up pieces of paper and rosary in his pocket. Jake felt ineffectual.
The bum seemed to be coming to on his own as the medics showed up. They tried to get his information and tried to get him to talk straight. Eventually they hauled him away. Jake shook his head and shuffled back inside to his desk.
"Lord Jesus and Mary" he muttered. He returned to his grid in Illustrator.
---------------
She carefully took out her envelope with the evening's pay. Crisp hundreds and some twenties. She loved the dirty feeling between her fingertips. She carefully slipped the cash in a deposit envelope. She turned to light a couple of candles on the shelf nearby. Washed her hands from the money counting, then sat down at her electric piano. She had always found the piano stiff and unsoulful but she was always too lazy to learn guitar into her twenties and was too tired after work to want to deal with percussion instruments (though she thought it an entertaining idea for a neighborly alarm clock). The cascades fell out of her fingers after a brief warm up. Her shoulder was tired from her work earlier in the evening. So much struggle, so much silliness, she thought. Beethoven flowed into her own compositions she had been working on, into a couple of Elton John songs, which kept her laughing. Eventually she powered down the piano, taking a glimpse outside at the sunrise.
She laughed at how old-fashioned and alone she was. Just then, Marina jumped onto her bed. She had named her after a strange and sad version of "The Little Mermaid" she had seen a long time ago. It was nice and unexpected to have the dog cuddle with her.
Early morning always had an unsettling smell, and one that she avoided. Thankfully.
The bum clearly had a head wound. It was bleeding a hell of a lot. He was completely laid up on his back. Pupils did not seem to be rolling back in his head. He was just out cold, with open eyes. And bleeding.
"Hi, 911? It looks like there's a transient passed out on the sidewalk connected to our property. He appears to have a really terrible head wound." Jake gave them the address. He hated dealing with crisis situations, though he had to do it on a fairly regular basis. It seemed like 15 minutes before the ambulance got there. He fumbled with the crumpled-up pieces of paper and rosary in his pocket. Jake felt ineffectual.
The bum seemed to be coming to on his own as the medics showed up. They tried to get his information and tried to get him to talk straight. Eventually they hauled him away. Jake shook his head and shuffled back inside to his desk.
"Lord Jesus and Mary" he muttered. He returned to his grid in Illustrator.
---------------
She carefully took out her envelope with the evening's pay. Crisp hundreds and some twenties. She loved the dirty feeling between her fingertips. She carefully slipped the cash in a deposit envelope. She turned to light a couple of candles on the shelf nearby. Washed her hands from the money counting, then sat down at her electric piano. She had always found the piano stiff and unsoulful but she was always too lazy to learn guitar into her twenties and was too tired after work to want to deal with percussion instruments (though she thought it an entertaining idea for a neighborly alarm clock). The cascades fell out of her fingers after a brief warm up. Her shoulder was tired from her work earlier in the evening. So much struggle, so much silliness, she thought. Beethoven flowed into her own compositions she had been working on, into a couple of Elton John songs, which kept her laughing. Eventually she powered down the piano, taking a glimpse outside at the sunrise.
She laughed at how old-fashioned and alone she was. Just then, Marina jumped onto her bed. She had named her after a strange and sad version of "The Little Mermaid" she had seen a long time ago. It was nice and unexpected to have the dog cuddle with her.
Early morning always had an unsettling smell, and one that she avoided. Thankfully.
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