InsaneJournal

Day Seven - Late Morning
Who: Cheryl Mason and Sid Jenkins
What: Morning fix of nicotine
When: Late morning
Where: The theater
Rating: PG-13 or so, probably, for language
Status: Incomplete; dropped



It had seemed that Sid had perhaps been stepping on toes, having taken up residence in the petrol station. There were already people living there. In a continuing effort to keep his head down, Sid had simply gone to the next building with which he was somewhat familiar and let himself inside. It was an old theater, he came to find. Looked a bit like what he thought maybe West End might if it, too, had been abandoned. There were other people staying there, too, but it was big enough that he didn't feel too much like an intruder. He'd simply taken up one of the seats in the dark corner in the back, curled up, and gone to sleep.

When he woke up, he was disappointed but unsurprised to find that he was still there, rather than back in Times Square. He wanted very badly to believe that it was all a weird dream or a bad trip, but every passing day was making it harder and harder to do so. Fuck, he needed a fag.

Groaning as he stretched his stiff muscles and rolled his neck and shoulders, Sid got out of the chair and headed for the door. He'd just smoke inside like he had at the petrol station, except somehow it felt wrong in a theater. Plus, he'd thought he was alone in the petrol station. He wasn't sure how well the women milling around in here would like it if he just lit up a cigarette and had at it. But, when he got to the front door, he couldn't push it open. "Oh, come on," he said through gritted teeth, slamming his shoulder against the wood and only managing to hurt himself. "Fuck! Fucking fuck! Bollocks! Open, you fucker!" he shouted, kicking the door, next. Christ, was wanting to be a polite smoker so bloody much to ask?!