Post by GARRETT EDWARD MARCHEL on Apr 27, 2013 14:22:02 GMT -5
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Garrett was never sure exactly what to make of Ridley. She wasn’t a big sharer, but then again neither was he. He liked to keep to the impersonal, the superficial. Too much thought, well it could be said to corrupt the mind. It was certainly a belief Garrett held. So he stuck with simplicity, let it surround his senses and dictate his words. It had done just that when he’d struck up conversation with Ridley in a 9th grade history class so long ago. It continued to do so now, as Garrett walked down the sidewalk – hands in pockets. He wore jeans, a plain black t-shirt with a sweater thrown over. He was the emphasis of casual. His shirt settled appealingly over his shoulders, though wasn’t one of those that clung to every inch of his skin. He’d never been comfortable with those. A bag was slung over one shoulder. He moved without a care, a meandering kind of pace. Sure, he had some place to be, but not for quite some time. The bag over his shoulder contained everything he could possibly need – specifically his wallet, a change of clothes and his phone.
He’d thrown on a jacket, heavy and packed with down. Winter was upon them or would be soon, it was evident in the crisp air. Upon leaving the house, it sucked the breath from his lips. It reddened his cheeks in seconds. The trees once laden with green had become skeletal, reaching towards the skies in hopes of redemption. It wasn’t an altogether hopeful sort of season, but one Garrett enjoyed nonetheless. He was extremely partial to the clichés of winter – of hot chocolate and blankets, watching movies on the couch, of Christmas carols and snowball fights. They’d all been things he’d done so often as a child. He, Zachary and Jeremy had been terrors in the winter. He increased his pace slightly. The cold was seeping through his clothing, caressing his bare skin. He was eager to get in somewhere warm, perhaps get a bowl of soup or a mug of coffee. He’d called Ridley earlier that afternoon. Jeremy was at home, watching hours of re-runs of cooking shows and furiously scribbling notes. And he’d sooner let his ears bleed than listen to talk of gourmet food. Garrett definitely loved nothing more than he loved food, but he didn’t want to sit around and talk all day about it. If he was lucky, after Rid’s place he’d be heading to a job interview – hence the change of clothes. He was determined to look spiffy, not that he didn’t usually anyways.
He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. He rounded the corner, the apartment building rearing up before him. He paused, ducking into a coffee shop. He paid for two hot chocolates (he’d never been a fan of coffee) and grabbed an assortment of pastries. His wallet was looking quite empty, but hopefully a job would soon remedy that. He ducked into the apartment building, waited for the elevator to take him up. When he arrived, he rang the doorbell, waiting with the drinks and pastries in hand. The pastries were an appetizer of sorts. He wanted company, an escape from his own home. And the best place to become lost was in food – or company – or ideally, both. Hence his friendship with Ridley. Though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t eager to see her. She was alluring, difficult. She always seemed to dance just barely out from reach. And for the past few years, he’d enjoyed their game, their easy style of living in each other’s worlds.
