Darker London

The boredom was a killer and Josie wasn’t sleeping.

Peter was sleeping. Or at least, Peter had gone home for the night and was probably in bed with his wife by now or stressing about the world or still at Thomas’s reading Stephie old journal stories; either way, not here. Josie was also stressing about the world, but she wasn’t in bed, she was on the roof.

It was shitty weather up on the roof. But as much as Josie hated the discomfort of the cold, she wasn’t shivering. Was this, she wondered, a demon thing? Could she even get hyperthermia? Or was her skin and her muscles and her blood too removed from human to succumb to that?

( ... )

He hadn't meant for anyone to hear him cry. That was why he was doing it in the backyard at six in the morning, bent over the outside table with his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. His laptop was in front of him, open to a page which was benignly informing him his electricity bill for the month was a hundred quid over what he currently had in his bank account.

( Destitute )