Post by Katsuro Hachi on Jun 1, 2016 12:35:28 GMT -5
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Katsuro stared at the bottom of the Starbucks mug like it was a bottle of fifteen dollar rye whiskey. Something to lose himself in.[break][break]
It had been three days, now, since he'd come to on that bench in the diner, opposite the man with his plan. Three days since he'd been offered fame and glory. Three days since he'd turned it down, said there was no way in hell he was heading back out there. Not after what had happened. Not after it took control, thrumming at the back of his mind, wings pulsing, larvae writhing, black, yellow, black, yellow--[break][break]
Katsuro winced, closed his eyes for a moment and let his breathing drift back down to normal. Whatever had happened in Triton City had fucked with him big time, he knew that much. The summer humidity had fogged the glass pane at the front of the franchise coffee shop in some nondescript off-off-off-Broadway street he'd wandered into, clinging to the green lettering he stared beneath, watching the city that never slept during what seemed to very much be a Monday half-past-three naptime.[break][break]
The Japanese national had never really understood why it slept any less than Tokyo. It seemed to be something of a myth, too; turn enough corners, wait long enough, and everywhere gets quiet. It was the case back home, and the case here, too. He'd always wanted to visit New York, as a kid. The American obsession was a bug Katsuro had caught, just as all his peers had. He didn't see the big deal.[break][break]
That was beside the point. He swirled the stirrer through the half-cappucino he had remaining and tapped it gently on the side of the ceramic, idly occupying himself with the 'little things'. The culture shock was the least of his problems. A likely-infuriated mind-controlling digital spirit, a man trying to recruit him for some kind of new world resistance, and the serious lack of any plane tickets home were all bubbling together in the world's least enjoyable melting pot.[break][break]
Katsuro sighed and stuffed his face between his folded arms. He had no idea what he was going to do.
[googlefont=Raleway][break][break]
YOU ARE NO
0372 WORDS ■ Leyton Thomson ■ HERE WE GO
EXCEPTION
Katsuro stared at the bottom of the Starbucks mug like it was a bottle of fifteen dollar rye whiskey. Something to lose himself in.[break][break]
It had been three days, now, since he'd come to on that bench in the diner, opposite the man with his plan. Three days since he'd been offered fame and glory. Three days since he'd turned it down, said there was no way in hell he was heading back out there. Not after what had happened. Not after it took control, thrumming at the back of his mind, wings pulsing, larvae writhing, black, yellow, black, yellow--[break][break]
Katsuro winced, closed his eyes for a moment and let his breathing drift back down to normal. Whatever had happened in Triton City had fucked with him big time, he knew that much. The summer humidity had fogged the glass pane at the front of the franchise coffee shop in some nondescript off-off-off-Broadway street he'd wandered into, clinging to the green lettering he stared beneath, watching the city that never slept during what seemed to very much be a Monday half-past-three naptime.[break][break]
The Japanese national had never really understood why it slept any less than Tokyo. It seemed to be something of a myth, too; turn enough corners, wait long enough, and everywhere gets quiet. It was the case back home, and the case here, too. He'd always wanted to visit New York, as a kid. The American obsession was a bug Katsuro had caught, just as all his peers had. He didn't see the big deal.[break][break]
That was beside the point. He swirled the stirrer through the half-cappucino he had remaining and tapped it gently on the side of the ceramic, idly occupying himself with the 'little things'. The culture shock was the least of his problems. A likely-infuriated mind-controlling digital spirit, a man trying to recruit him for some kind of new world resistance, and the serious lack of any plane tickets home were all bubbling together in the world's least enjoyable melting pot.[break][break]
Katsuro sighed and stuffed his face between his folded arms. He had no idea what he was going to do.
deltra of gangnam style
