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EasyJim stands under the torn awning in front of a sleazy hotel, listening to the rain and the buzzing of a neon sign. He's wet and cold, and pissed as hell. He pulls his coat tighter around him and shivers, and growls at Tyler, who's late again.
He looks up as a cab approaches. It stops by the curb, and lets a young man into the street.
"You're late, Tyler."
"I know, I know," Tyler grumbles. He shuffles over to stand next to Jim, hunching his shoulders. "I had to wait twenty minutes for a cab. I'm soaked." He wrinkles his nose at the rain. "This sucks."
"Shut up. I've been standing out here for a fucking hour waiting for you." Jim turns away. "Come on."
Tyler stays where he is.
"I said, come on."
"I don't want to do this."
"Don't start with that."
"Look…I just can't, okay? Why do I have to do it?"
"It isn't your job to question. It's your job to do what you're told. You know that. Now come on."
Tyler stands motionless and stares at the ground.
"Don't make me stand out here all night."
CSII want to be a CSI
If I cannot, then I will cry.
Whenever I see someone die,
I will use my sharp, sharp eye
To catch the man who tells a lie,
And show everyone he's the bad guy
It will be hard, but I will try.
Every question, he will deny.
But those who, the law, do defy
Will get what's coming, by and by.
To do this job, you must be sly.
To chase criminals, you have to be spry.
(Greg is so totally screwing a guy.)
I might even work with the FBI.
They will be a good ally
If villains manage to slip by.
If you want to find out why
I want to be a CSI,
I will tell you, I'm not shy.
And that is why I'm superfly,
Enough to be a CSI.
The Italian Lesson8:00 PM.
"I give up!"
Ferris slammed his textbook down on Marco's kitchen table. "There's no way I can do this anymore. You're pathetic. I'm going home." He stood up and grabbed his coat.
Marco jumped up on the other side of the table. "You can't go, I still don't get it. I'll fail."
"Marco, your entire family speaks nothing but Italian. Every single person in your neighborhood speaks nothing but Italian. You watch fucking TV in Italian! If you've spent as much time as I think you have around this language, and still can't speak a word of it, then there are bigger problems here than I can deal with."
"I can speak a little! I just need to go over the chapter again. Please? Just once?"
Ferris growled and sat back down reluctantly. "Little bastard. Fine, one more time. But then I'm going to bed."
Marco grinned and sat back down, reading from his textbook. "Anthony cameena al negoshio ee compra un proshuteo…"
Ferris sighed and
Family Business Seamus Aston sits behind the main building of St. Basil's, not quite drunk yet but getting there. It's ten o'clock in the morning, but it's been a hard morning and he needs to kill the pounding headache he's had since he woke up. He finishes off his second can of cheap beer and tosses it away as he notices Demos trudging around the corner of the building towards him. He drops his bag next to Seamus, follows it down, leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. He looks dead.
"Didn't see you in class this morning," Seamus comments, cracking open his first pack of cigarettes of the day.
"Family business," Demos replies curtly.
Seamus lights his cigarette, hands the pack to Demos and shuts up. Don't ask questions, don't expect answers. This is the morning routine.
"I shot someone last night."
This is not part of the morning routine.
Seamus coughs in alarm and looks at Demos. His hands are shaking as he lights his cigaret
Ode to Summer BoysYou, you speed past
Sleek, fast, and greyhound thin
Lazily loping up the beach
And chasing a ball in the grass
While sun runs down sunburned necks,
And freckled noses,
Everything I love in life
Gathered in lithe limbs
I invite a glance
which you'll give,
and with a flutter and a sigh,
I, I walk by.
Que Mafi-esque...draft?Jim stood under the shredded awning in front of the hotel. The rain poured down on his head, big fat drops that hurt as they pelted his shoulders. He pulled his coat tighter around him and shivered, trying to ignore the warm light inside. It seemed to be cruelly taunting him. But he had promised that he would meet Ty outside, and he never broke a promise.
He looked up as a cab approached. It pulled up to the curb and the door opened, letting a young man into the street. He shuffled over to stand next to Jim.
"You're late, Ty."
"Traffic. This sucks," he growled.
"Shut up," Jim snapped. "I've been standing out here for a fucking hour. Don't whine." He turned. "Come on."
Ty stayed where he was.
"I said, come on."
Vanguard, Chapter 1: DuncanDuncan's Journal: Day 1288
I consider myself a good man. I respect women, elders, my equals, and the dead. I say a morning prayer, and an evening one. Hell, I even thank the gods for a meal, instead of immediately chowing down in the voracious manner as the other soldiers here do. By all logical means, I should be in paradise. No really, not just because I'm a good man, but also because I should be dead by now. So I ask myself: why, oh gods up there, have I ended up in hell?
1288 days. 1288 days of my life have been spent in this misery, and I'm beginning to lose faith in the glory I was promised. Some of the rookies still live in their ignorant bliss, but I've lived long enough to realize that there's not much glory to find here. “Sing the songs of glory and march into battle—-join The Crusade today!”. Such were the words of the posters The Crusade has spread all over The Mortal Realm. Gullible fools practically stand in line for these songs of glory that th
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