Dark Day Who: Lennon and Marco Where: the kitchen When: mid-morning
Lennon had been here long enough to learn that often plans that were made had to be abandoned and possibly rescheduled. It was the nature of the way they lived now, with not much of anything under their control. Usually he was reasonably good-natured about it, but for some reason today it seemed like the worst thing in the world. He'd awakened to pouring rain, dark skies, and everything was terrible. Nobody had said they weren't going down to town now, but it was basic common sense that they wouldn't be. Somehow this morning everything was fucking depressing, or irritating, or both.
He took a shower in the dark and then barely dried off, unable to make the effort. After raking his hands through his hair to comb it, he got dressed in sweats and a t-shirt and wandered downstairs. He should make himself something to eat, but he was too busy dealing with irrational anger and mopeyness. Lennon stood next to the back door, watching the rain outside, unable to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. He could get down sometimes, especially when he drank, but this was a step beyond that. All he could seem to do was feel sorry for himself, speculate that maybe nobody in the house really liked him that much after all... they must not, because why else would he feel so suddenly lonely?
Yesterday evening he'd been fine, sending messages to friends, washing his damned shoes and making a chocolate pie that had turned out pretty decent. Today all he wanted to do was open the door and walk out into the rain, catch pneumonia and maybe die of it. Whatever.