InsaneJournal

Reizo’s apartment was a hard contrast to the boy.  Where he was a big rough roguish sort who stood out no matter where he went, his apartment was small and clean and organized and like something out of a homemaker’s magazine.  The tile floors in the small hallway leading away from the front door and laid out in the small kitchen were spotlessly clean, and the shag rug that blanketed the rest of the house was thick, lustrous, and always looked freshly vacuumed.

Despite its showroom floor qualities, it managed to seem lived in.  The whole place smelled faintly of stale cigarette smoke and oil, and the living room seemed to be the heart of it all.  It was small, but the furniture was spaced so as to make it seem larger than it was.  Pictures crowded one section of the wall, all hung in simple frames, and all of rough and tumble looking teenagers and men, scowling.  An entertainment system dominated the wall opposite of a big and worn leather couch.

The most arresting features in the room were the guns set brazenly out in the open in a display case in one corner, and the new shrine to Reizo’s father set up against the corner closest to the main hallway.

Reizo sat slumped in a chair, eyeing the clock and looking fairly grumpy.  Delinquent 101 wasn’t his idea of a fun time, and he was dreading the idea of them going through his closet, but either way he hoped they're hurry the fuck up and arrive.