matching set of marching clocks [mickey]

Tom could not imagine a life over the influence. He'd been on the wrong side of the tracks since middle school, he was that boy that your parents didn't want you to hang around. As a youth, he seemed more airheaded than he actually was and that could be blamed on the fact he was high a lot. He did not miss those times, though, because now he was an adult who had things to do and could not just sit around eating all the food in his house. So in a way, he could understand Mickey. He didn't go to bars too often, he was busy with life and he did not have the time to just go out all the time like he wished he could. Tom did realize he was a lot more social than his friend, however.

And as he didn't know about the fellow professor's mental health issues, he said, "To each their own, I guess. I suppose I don't drink much either, but that's mostly because we all do stupid shit when we're fucked up." Nothing like a quote from The Hangover to describe inebriation. He couldn't recall ever finding a tiger in his bathroom, but there were a lot of instances that he woke up in the morning without a clue of what happened the night before. And now that he was older, hangovers were the worst. In his teens and early twenties, it was easy. He'd still be able to function, he'd just have a headache and the dry heaves. He'd make plans for his hangovers. At his age, though, he could barely even function with a hangover. It was like the world suddenly became this sick, masochistic place bent on destroying him and everything he was. A video game for people who made mistakes with drinking, such as him.

Tom blew out and shrugged. "It's about all I can do for fun these days. I'm getting old so it's not like I can just take random trips to Vancouver or just...go out like I used to." He wasn't that old, but he was thirty-two and he was definitely not as young as he used to be. And he felt old. Mickey was a little younger than him, so he didn't know if the guy could relate, but he was not as young as he used to be and couldn't be always doing something. "And I'm busy. Blackjack's close, I have friends, and I'm not about to go clubbing.' He was not a fan of that scene. A bunch of sweaty twenty-something's bumping up against him as he tried to carry drinks to a table. He couldn't remember ever thinking that was fun. It wasn't fun. At all, and he wanted to punch any adult who said that they were going to a club. Of course, some of his friends still did it and he withheld, but he did mock them.

The man looked over at Mickey and said, "You should just go out more, man. You don't even have to go to a bar." There weren't many other places where people could socialize, however. Adults, at least. You didn't exactly meet people in restaurants. If you went alone, you sat alone and ate alone. No one was going to come over and strike up conversation. At least Tom came to Blackjack half the time and expected to meet people, mostly women of course. He was a man with needs.

Tom wasn't one who'd been too interested in things like psychology. He found his love in calculus, in the pure mathematical logic. And while he did well in his psych classes, it was just not his calling. He supposed everyone had those things, the areas they excelled in but never tried to pursue. If so, he still would not have been able to tell what was up with Mickey. It was a mental illness that could be subtle enough to go unnoticed. Unless of course hallucination manifested in people someone could talk to. Like John Nash, who Tom respected because he would always respect a fellow mathematician.

He smiled his broad, easygoing smile when Mickey said that he could take trips during breaks. "That's what I do," the man said, nodding a little. "Yeah, usually it's to visit family, but luckily my family is pretty close in the area." His parents lived here, as did his siblings. A lot of his aunts and uncles could also be found in the Hollow, and his beloved grandmother too. There were some in the states, and even some in Ireland, but those were the really distant cousins that no one actually talked about. The professor had often found them hard to understand, so usually smiled and nodded when they spoke when he had to go out and visited him. He liked them all the same, though, they were good people.

If Tom ever went out clubbing again, he'd have hit that mid-life crisis, the age when he was trying to recapture youth. It's what people who could not accept age did, tried their best to go back. And he didn't want to revert it. Sure, he was acting much older than he was, but that had been mostly because he felt older than he was, older than he should have been at thirty-two. He didn't have a particularly traumatic past, but he'd lived through a lot of things he wished he hadn't. While they scarred deep, he tried not to carry those things with him. He'd successfully moved past a lot of it, and he believed that's what made him an adult. He wasn't about to go back to the years when he could club and drink all night without getting a hangover that was the equivalent of a lobotomy. Another thing that worsened with age was hangovers.

Tom shrugged at the words. It was like the man was trying to put down any chance of going out. On Tom's part it was a simple suggestion and he wouldn't be devastated if Mickey decided he was better off alone. It was the guy's life, he was just making friendly conversation. "Go out to eat or something." Then again, it was an equally sad sight to watch a lone man eat dinner. But in a lot of situations he could meet new people. That is, if he wanted to. "Amusement parks are fun. A lot of screaming kids around, but they have smoking areas." Hell, he'd like to go to one and he didn't think of it as trying to recapture his youth since he didn't really go to that kind of place in his youth. "Or you can sit at home and watch movies all the time, I don't know man. That's how you end up like my buddy, Rudy." He didn't go into a description of Rudy, who he was or what he did, he just implied that one did not want to become a Rudy.

Tom didn't mind quiet people. They were easy to get along with, that was for sure. And he didn't feel the need to bridge gaps in conversation, simply enjoyed the companionable quiet. He couldn't be described as quiet himself, not really. He wasn't talkative, either. Save for when he got on something he was passionate about. A lot of people learned that the hard way. One did not make a foul comment about something he loved without repercussion. He was a passionate man, but he was also shifty. He could be your best friend one moment, and then a cagey, flighty man the next. His students were the ones to be thrown off the most by this, but usually he had the image of a hardass professor to uphold. He did it well, with stern features and droning lectures. Though he did make an effort to connect with his classroom. He saw no benefit in teaching anyone who wasn't at least conscious in his class. It was rather difficult to make the subject interesting to people only taking the class as a requirement, but when that was the case he didn't even bother. They should want to pass for their future.

As it were, he was fine with just smoking a cigarette. The man did indulge from time to time on the Academy grounds, though he tried to avoid it. Not that he wanted to be a bad influence to his student. If they were going to get into shit, it was going to be because of their peers. As a matter of fact, he was sure most kids would want to do the opposite of their teachers. As a professor, it was funny to think of his teacher friends and how they must have seemed like evil robots to their students. He probably thought of them much the same way when he was younger, though he couldn't really remember teachers. Though the select few that he could bring to mind when swapping stories of high school experiences. There was always those evil teachers, the ones who made your life hell. He at least tried to avoid being that, though he wanted what was best for his students.

Because otherwise they would turn out to be Rudy. Mickey seemed very curious about him, and he supposed it was understandable since Tom only gave a little snippet of information about him. "He's a buddy of mine who sits at home all the time eating cheetos and smoking pot." Okay, so he did smoke pot but he had a life and he didn't do it that much. He was an adult, he had things to do, and honestly being stoned all the time was some middle school bullshit. "Usually he's the one calling me at two in the morning asking why gravy boats aren't used for things like ketchup or other condiments." No one wanted to be that guy and no one wanted to be friends with that guy. Though Thomas did love all his friends, he wouldn't be around them if he didn't. "I mean, a lot of factors have to go into it before become that. A lot of DUIs, years of being a bag boy at the grocery store, and family disappointment. But the life of a shut in is not glamorous." And such was the tale of Rudy. He had other friends who were similar but got themselves outside. A lot of his friends were Academy teachers and professors, though, because he saw them the most. He spent a lot of time at the school.

He flicked ash to the ground, putting the cigarette back in his mouth as he looked out at the dark. It was near impossible to see stars in the city, but in some places they flickered in the sky. The bar was not one of them, unfortunately. "Feel like going back in?" Tom asked the man, watching his cigarette steadily wane, closing in to a butt. Unless Mickey wanted another, they could go back to their drinks. It wasn't cold out, so Tom didn't mind being outside. Though the temperature did drastically drop, it was a comfortable kind of warm with a lack of humidity. It was especially appreciated what with the suit her wore.