Re: Shiloh F + Jack P: The Capital
Shiloh had pissed against so many walls that he didn't think a thing of it. He'd pissed in flowerbeds and potted plants. He'd pissed in corners of lavishly appointed rooms. He was a collection of bad behavior that had become baked onto his person, permanent fixtures thoughtlessly employed now that there was no true reason to behave badly. But he suspected all behaviors were like this in the end. Things done for one reason or another, and then the reason completely ended and forgotten, and the behavior living on in marrow and muscle.
Also, Shiloh was willow-weed thin, and he didn't look as if he'd played a sport in the entire duration of his short life. "If there aren't rules, then there aren't rules to break," he said. Shiloh liked words that spilled, but he didn't look for congruity between his statements. He could very well turn around and hate rules the next moment. But in this moment, rules were middle of the road.
"I wasn't talking about our shoes," he clarified. He needed no shoes at present, but that didn't mean he had excess in his closet. Still, he did not need this man's shoes. "I meant the people freezing in what promises to be a very harsh winter. Advice, friend, on alleyways." Advice that, in truth, Shiloh knew the man did not require. This wasn't a drug deal, and not being one meant the landscape was, at present, undecipherable.
But Shiloh said the words, and then he began to shuffle toward the mouth of the alley.