Avoid if triggered by misplaced apostrophe's. (essayel) wrote in morningstar_mnr, @ 2010-01-10 09:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | jimmy |
Vine Sq., YFRS, Sunday afternoon
Jimmy turned up his coat collar as he stepped out of the comfortable warmth of the Auberge, and turned to walk along the sidewalk. Every so often he paused to look in shop windows, to inspect the yellow posters he'd been seeing around lately.
One of the staff in Sanctuary had wanted to put one up in the staff room and when Jimmy had said no had said "Don't you want to send something to those poor people?" and had been disgusted when Jimmy had said "Yeah, syphilis". Jimmy had thought it really funny and chuckled now as he headed down the block.
It was a cold day but there was plenty of people about, some taking advantage of the January sales, some hoping to take advantage of them. The were happy to exchange smiles with him - just a harmless old hippie left over from the seventies. The latter met a different sort of smile, he could smell the little bastards, see, and sheered off, like jackals giving way to a moth eaten old hyena. Presumably they could smell him too.
He stopped twice more on his way, apparently at random, did what he needed to do then looked at his watch. Time for one more then he'd head home for dinner.
It was always a pleasure to visit YFRS, even without an ulterior motive, and he took his time going through the racks, selecting an album here, a single there, then going through to the racks of vinyl.
They had a few titles by Passiontide, of course, and he smiled at his own young, snarling face before moving along to pounce on a rare copy of Blind Faith by Blind Faith.
With that in his hands it was natural for him to move along to a less musically credible area of the racks and set his purchases down the better to inspect the old album for scratches. He'd seen many other people do it as well, confident that they wouldn't be in anyone's way while obscuring the miscellaneous bunch of novelty albums, best of bands even he had never heard of and a few stray Barry Manilows. He snorted as he leafed through them - apparently in derision but actually in satisfaction. Sandwiched between the albums was an old envelope. Nothing suspicious there. Currently it held several dozen bags of prime grade Pink, later, if all went as planned, it would be replaced by an equally innocuous envelope holding quite a lot of money. Later still someone would bring it to him and hand it over and they would get their cut.
Looked like the system was working. Max would be so pleased.