opposites ; max stanley

we've never met but, can we have a coffee or something?

a/n: n/n = nickname !! :)

wednesday, june 28th
7am

i've never been one for sleeping in, never been one for getting much sleep in the first place, really. i guess i've gotten pretty used to it over the years. i've gone from sleeping in alleys, to behind any building with a heat vent, to strangers couches, fuck, i've slept in dumpsters. i never minded it, i have the ability to fall asleep basically anywhere. but it's rare for me to get more than 5 or 6 hours of sleep a night.

i laid on my mattress for a while, pondering the thought of getting up, and getting coffee. there's no harm in getting up. i'm needing a smoke, anyway.

slipping one of george's t-shirts on, one of many that i have stolen from him, and a mismatched pair of thigh high socks - to keep my legs warm, of course. who the fuck likes wearing pants, anyways?

the only con to wearing thigh high socks all the time is the fact that i've got some pretty chubby thighs. not like, what people would call "thick", just chubby. covered in scars and tattoos. some professionally done - more recent ones, some stick and pokes. but, yeah. chubby thighs equal my socks rolling down a lot.

i would text george, but he sleeps in quite a bit. i wouldn't want to bother him again, now would i? i think to myself; snickering at the text he sent last night. the boy sure does like his sleep. who am i kidding, though? sleep in a wonderful thing, if i could get more of it, i sure as hell would. it's like being dead without all that permanence, not to mention that sometimes you feel amazing when you wake up. that's a pretty cool thing to experience. sleep is wonderful.

making my way to my kitchen, i take the thick wool blanket down from the sliding door in the living room. too poor for curtains, but i also just enjoy the look and feel of having a blanket over the window. it's quite comforting. continuing on with my adventure to the kitchen, i start to get lost in my own thoughts

maybe i should get a kitten or pup? i'm kind of lonely here, on my own.

i work so much, though, i wouldn't want it to get lonely itself.

george could help me take care of it, though.

maybe i'll look into it? i don't quite know.

shaking my head, i fill up the coffee pot with water, and proceed to make a pot of coffee. i'll think about getting a pet later, i am far too tired to even comprehend that animals are real, living creatures right now.

after waiting a couple minutes, 10 minutes tops, i poured myself a cup of coffee, dumping god knows how much sugar into my cup, along with cream, and stirring it with the same tea spoon i've used for the past week and a half. i should probably wash it soon. running back to my bedroom, i grab my pack of smokes out of my jacket - completely blanking that i had lost my lighter.

well fuck. i don't think i have another one, i have no idea if i have any matches. i guess i should just.. walk to the store and buy a pack?

shrugging, i sipped my coffee and walked to my bedroom. what am i looking for again? oh. right. shorts. i stood in the middle of the room, almost completely forgetting what i was doing, until i whipped around and opened my dresser, dug through the 2nd drawer from the top, and grabbed a pair of patch-covered, dirt smeared high waisted shorts. i threw them on, not bothering to put on a bra or change my socks, slipped on my far too tattered black vans. not forgetting to shove my phone and cigarettes into my jacket pocket; i swung my front door open, and left.

i didn't bother to lock the door, it's not like anyone in this building would be interested in stealing a mattress, some dirty clothes and an old, old coffee maker. most of the people that live here are in their 60's, anyway.