Who: GOB What: GOB tries to fix a small problem, makes a bigger one Where: GOB's apartment When: Weds evening Rating: low. He can't even swear. Status: closed; complete narrative
Suit jacket thrown across the small apartment table, GOB, shirtless, worked with an uncharacteristic furious intensity as he attempted to fix the spring-load that would send the shower of pennies from his sleeve at his upcoming show. He tried, for the moment, to concentrate on the fact that no one in the New York Magician's Alliance seemed to have heard of him, and totally ignored the debilitating shame that came whenever he remembered that there were REAL wizards here that made his illusions look like-well, what they were, which was parlor tricks set to stagey pop music. Whatever, he had a 30 minute set and he was going to make the most of it.
Suddenly, a chill went over him, and he turned towards the window. "God *beep*ing dammit, that *beep*ing window is broken again?? COME ON!" he said, throwing his clamp down with frustration. It was bad enough he had no yacht, but living in this apartment was GOB's version of hell. Even the model home was better than this. Not only was it small, utilitarian and smelled slightly of cheese, but the window kept randomly cracking, filling his 5th floor craptacular efficiency with New York's autumn air. God he missed Orange County. He didn't even know if his yacht HAD a heater, let alone was he ever forced to actually turn it on. He stormed over to the window, grabbing a hammer along the way. In one large arc, he threw all his anger, frustration and humiliation into a single blow of his hammer, smashing the pane to bits and filling his apartment with a huge gust of freezing wind.
Staring out into the city below as his face and upper torso went numb with cold, he dropped the hammer at his feet.