Re: Gotham: Russ & Imogen
Life took it out of you piece by piece, until you had shit going on underneath the skin that the body stretched over to accommodate. But the girl in white was young the way belief was young: Russ thought of God the way he thought of spaghettios and Easter eggs, like it was irretrievably bound up with naivete and youth. Marina hadn't worn a thing up front on coffee-with-cream but she didn't believe in anything except herself.
But the girl - kid - girl maybe, drinking in a bar where they carded OK if you weren't the right age or you didn't look like you were, wanted to mix her drinks and Russ scraped the flat of blunt nails against his scalp through the shortened sand of his hair, and gave it a thought. "Give her a beer. Local."
He rolled it over, like cigarette paper sealed over loose tobacco. "People in bars, princess, come to relax. God ain't about relaxing." And because good people, the kind that went to churches Sunday, didn't drink mid-week like it was gonna run out. But the song was unexpected, but pretty and he recognized it even in the pull of bow over strings. Everyone got that one.