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Sunday, Late Morning, Telephone Call to Jay
Gale woke with Oscar's foot planted under his jaw and drool on his ankle, and laying there, blinking at the late morning sun that streamed through the windows, he swore vengeance on the bastards who invented pixie stix and all things crack-like and sugary. Not that he hadn't loved it at the time, in the thick of things, though the part where Max nearly violated him with a lightsaber had been a touch and go moment.
Max. Shit.
Dislodging Oscar's foot, Gale sat up enough to see the tangle of sleeping bags on the floor in front of the television that still crackled, picture static and grey where the dvd player had turned itself off. Empty save for a loudly snorting Daisy, he cursed and rolled to get out of bed only to find two legs sticking out from under the bed, and okay, check. Two boys, a dog and if God truly existed, there would be a nun bearing coffee in the kitchen.
Dragging a comatose Max from under the bed, he dumped him next to Oscar and tucked them both in and then dragged a robe off the chair next to the door and stumbled to the kitchen where Matilda-Atilla was ensconced with his Sunday paper, a cup of tea and a snort that spoke volumes as she gestured toward the coffee pot and went back to the Sport section.
Forgoing a mug, he drank straight from the pot, staring blindly out the back porch until the caffeine kicked in enough to spur him to action. That being surrounded by candy addled children climbing the walls had reminded him of Jay wasn't something he'd share, but it had and so scrolling through his phone, he found the number and punched the call button, lighting up a cigarette as he stepped outside into the cold morning.
Max. Shit.
Dislodging Oscar's foot, Gale sat up enough to see the tangle of sleeping bags on the floor in front of the television that still crackled, picture static and grey where the dvd player had turned itself off. Empty save for a loudly snorting Daisy, he cursed and rolled to get out of bed only to find two legs sticking out from under the bed, and okay, check. Two boys, a dog and if God truly existed, there would be a nun bearing coffee in the kitchen.
Dragging a comatose Max from under the bed, he dumped him next to Oscar and tucked them both in and then dragged a robe off the chair next to the door and stumbled to the kitchen where Matilda-Atilla was ensconced with his Sunday paper, a cup of tea and a snort that spoke volumes as she gestured toward the coffee pot and went back to the Sport section.
Forgoing a mug, he drank straight from the pot, staring blindly out the back porch until the caffeine kicked in enough to spur him to action. That being surrounded by candy addled children climbing the walls had reminded him of Jay wasn't something he'd share, but it had and so scrolling through his phone, he found the number and punched the call button, lighting up a cigarette as he stepped outside into the cold morning.