WHO: Daryl Dixon and OPEN WHAT: Hating the Snow WHEN: Monday WHERE: Main Street, finally the coffee shop WARNINGS: Language, possible talk of Zombies STATUS: Open/Ongoing
Daryl hated the snow. After all, he was from Georgia, and while they got a little bit once in a while (although not often), they never got shit like this. It was cold, it was wet, and he had to bundle up in all sorts of clothes that he couldn't move well in. He'd seen Georgia complaining about the heavy clothes on the network, and agreed with her a hundred percent. It sucked. You could be damned good and warm when the zombies started munching on you. Shit.
The schools were all closed today (for ice or some shit like that), so as he walked downtown, it was quieter than usual. The kids would probably come out later, but for now they were enjoying a nice morning of sleeping in. They hadn't had many snow days in Georiga, but he'd made up for them by skipping as much as he could. His dad would whip his ass if he found out, but how was that any damn different from normal?
He almost fell on that ass several times as he walked down the street, learning much to his chagrin that the salt they put down didn't work so good all the time. He made his way to the coffee shop, his nose dripping, his eyes watering, and his cheeks red from the wind and cold. Stepping inside, he couldn't help himself from muttering a few obscenities about the weather under his breath as he got in line, more annoyed than anyone should be this time of morning.
When he finally got up to order, he looked at the list of fancy cappu-whatevers, and frothy-whatchamacallits, and about lost his temper right there.