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Saturday, October 13th
Who: Gris and Sketch
Where: By the TJS dumpsters
When: Saturday, October 13th, early afternoon
What: He's dumpster-diving, duh!
People usually guessed a lot of stuff sucked about being in suspended animation for the majority of four decades. Really, it wasn't all that bad. The worst part was that he was a teenager for most of that time and realized in a couple of days how outdated his stuff was. Luckily, his old t-shirts were now 'vintage' and canvas shoes had come back into style. Certainly, the dumpsters and his clothing was the same, as well as the building. If the broken television he was opening up on the pavement was in a wooden frame, it might as well be thirty years prior.
Everyone had all kinds of stuff now. Actually, he'd asked someone where their radio was and they'd given him a strange look. It was filesharing online now, iPods (weirdo name for a music player), digital television, and laptops. For a teenager's soul, feeling left out was the worst feeling. With zero income other than to keep himself clothed and fed, Gris had decided that he would make some things for himself.
He knew, for example, that making a television from pre-existing parts was much easier than learning a language. Since the school was so big, people were always throwing things out. The trash was separated by electronic, hardware, and furniture to one side for special pick-up and the rest in the traditional disposables. Some of the things had been exposed to the elements for awhile, but still looked sturdy.
Not worrying about his jeans, long past irremovably stained by oil and dirt, he was crouched next to a television and trying to use his screwdriver to ply the plating off the back parts. Since the screws were already removed, he could only guess that they had settled together. His lips thinned as he wedged the head in, grabbed the handle with both hands and pushed with all his might. There was a mighty cracking sound and he almost fell forward into the now opened television back. That delayed response in effect. "Worschteshire!" He swore, holding up his hand to see the streak of red. Someday he was going to stab his body with something and not realize it.
Where: By the TJS dumpsters
When: Saturday, October 13th, early afternoon
What: He's dumpster-diving, duh!
People usually guessed a lot of stuff sucked about being in suspended animation for the majority of four decades. Really, it wasn't all that bad. The worst part was that he was a teenager for most of that time and realized in a couple of days how outdated his stuff was. Luckily, his old t-shirts were now 'vintage' and canvas shoes had come back into style. Certainly, the dumpsters and his clothing was the same, as well as the building. If the broken television he was opening up on the pavement was in a wooden frame, it might as well be thirty years prior.
Everyone had all kinds of stuff now. Actually, he'd asked someone where their radio was and they'd given him a strange look. It was filesharing online now, iPods (weirdo name for a music player), digital television, and laptops. For a teenager's soul, feeling left out was the worst feeling. With zero income other than to keep himself clothed and fed, Gris had decided that he would make some things for himself.
He knew, for example, that making a television from pre-existing parts was much easier than learning a language. Since the school was so big, people were always throwing things out. The trash was separated by electronic, hardware, and furniture to one side for special pick-up and the rest in the traditional disposables. Some of the things had been exposed to the elements for awhile, but still looked sturdy.
Not worrying about his jeans, long past irremovably stained by oil and dirt, he was crouched next to a television and trying to use his screwdriver to ply the plating off the back parts. Since the screws were already removed, he could only guess that they had settled together. His lips thinned as he wedged the head in, grabbed the handle with both hands and pushed with all his might. There was a mighty cracking sound and he almost fell forward into the now opened television back. That delayed response in effect. "Worschteshire!" He swore, holding up his hand to see the streak of red. Someday he was going to stab his body with something and not realize it.
