‘Roscoe’

‘Oh, Hi. Greg.’

R: Greg looks up for a second, before haggering himself back over his laptop. Nonce. I threw my big fuck-off rucksack onto the top bunk – before jumping on the ladder. Made him jump, it was funny. Crawling onto the metal frame, I turn myself, almost midair, in a 360 – landing heavily on a not so comfortable mattress. Still. On the mattress. Nice and comfortable… and still… and it’s dark… and I’m not really comfortable but it’s still nice… is that a spring… fucks sake! We didn’t have this in fucking Thailand – it’s a pisstake. Thailand was comfortable, perhaps a bit TOO comfortable, but we had a great time. Fucking hell – that pissing light from that pissing laptop. I hang myself off the side of the bed, to make eye contact. I don’t know maybe that will… stop him from doing his things? I don’t know. Probably. Maybe. Let me try it. It didn’t work. I hung down and we just, sort of, looked at each other. Not the type of interaction you want to have with someone who could, if they really wanted to, cut your nuts off in your sleep. We had a bit of that in Italy, weirdly. Majoratively very nice people, and now I’m just thinking about meatballs – ha. Fuck. Why did I do that? That was so stupid. I should stop doing stupid things. I can’t believe everyone bailed on this – I don’t get it. Charlotte had to go back because of TG Jones – but the newspapers will sell without you, knobface! AND cunty Richard, being all self-righteous about something or other. I’m not exactly sure it’s hard to be a security guard at Pandora – wedding rings are cheaper though, so he could save up for his next one. Pissing hell. One more trip – that’s what I said to myself. One more trip and then back… and then probably something else. Not another trip – something else, else. Working, maybe. Shower. I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. *

G:

If I can get this report done by 1am here-time, it will be ready by 5pm there-time, and if I can practically score these figures and charts straight into my retinas then maybe there’s a chance that I can get the secondary charts from Grayson. If only I could ignore that repugnant odour or the sound of him bouncing on the bed like he’s consistently landing on a dick made of his own self-loathing then perhaps I could concentrate. I just need to get back into the zone. Spreadsheets – lovely spreadsheets. Yep – I’m there. These vacuous circles of reds and yellows and blues must mean something in correlation to these figures here, but there’s a discrepancy here that I must find and – um – wait – what the fuck? He… is hanging upside-down from a very unstable metal bed frame. This must have taken a worrying amount of practice, perhaps underneath bridges or outside train stations. I admit, I am looking up from my spreadsheets now. Arse. This better be important – it has to be important to exercise that amount of core strength.

Except… nothing. You have nothing even remotely important to say, do you? God, you must be as high as a kite.

He slowly winches himself back up after a good… staring? Sizing? Oh god, he’s not going to cut off my bollocks, is he? I’ve seen that kind of thing on watchdogs.

I go back to my spreadsheets, but that’s not the only discrepancy in my head. Who is paying for this poor boy to go travelling? Who’s paying for his trips? It’s the middle of the week – a work week – and he’s here and he’s not working? What could he possibly be doing? He seems the type to travel.

I should travel. One day – some day probably soon. I’ll start soon, yeah. There’s money, and expenses, and the wife and the kids that will be coming – but it will be good, eventually.

I’ll figure it out.