Re: Third floor balcony
It was a distinct belief that those who were pretty should not die, but of course that wasn't anything close to true and he knew it. It felt as if he wanted to jokingly entertain the idea, like it was a little joke that he could chuckle over to himself later when he got a chance to put his feet up and reflect on the absurdity of the day. He wanted to smile about it, and he started to, but the expression went flat after the first hint of a smile fractured and all humor dissolved. He'd known too much death a lot of it was bought and paid for with his own two hands, but it was the death of innocence that cut the deepest.
"That's a shame, there's a shortness of pretty in this world."
He examined the bottle of vodka in his hand and considered its translucent slosh. He wasn't really in the mood to get drunk, but he figured that the best time to do so would be when one was in the body of a stranger. Assuming everything went back to normal, he could have all of the fun with none of the hangover. Besides, he had infinitely fewer problems in this body. Not very many reasons to look constantly over his shoulder, or so he hoped. For all he knew, this guy might have had more enemies than him, although that seemed really fucking impossible. If it proved to be true, he'd had to send this guy a card of congrats.
He did miss his own face and body, the novelty of this situation was fast in fading, but there did not seem to be anything he could currently do about it. If it got old, he'd figure out some solution. He always did.
"What do you say we get hammered?" He waggled the bottle in his hand with suggestion. Because when in doubt, party hard.