Richie thought most everything was strange these days. Oh, sure, he could ignore it four days out of seven, and make jokes about it for about two and a half out of the remaining three days. But there was just that half a day, man. Half a day where it just sort of sat on his chest and he didn't know what to do about it all. Luckily for Richie, that half day usually amounted to odd hours in the middle of the night and he could deal with that shit all on his own, thank you very much.
It wasn't like it was all bad either. It was just -- what it was, maybe?
But maybe he'd zigged instead of zagged this morning or something because here he was holding a pity party of one in the bathroom for zero reason at all and it wasn't even night time.
The irony, of course, was that Stanley was the one asking him if he was alright. In the bathroom. Stan. Who Richie had hid all the sharp objects in the house from, had found disposable safety razors to replace the normal ones. It was a joke that would be made too soon. Richie was rarely worried about that sort of thing and it would have come off of his tongue anyway, if not for the fact that even he didn't think it was funny. Not even a little.
So instead he opened the door of the bathroom and lifted his eyebrows up at Stan. "If we all showed up here out of the fucking blue, what do you think the odds of sewer alligators are like?"