𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐘.

[ezrawalsh]

EZRA WALSH is a THIRTY ONE year old CONVENIENT STORE EMPLOYEE. HE was born and raised in GOLDEN, BC, but they’ve been a GOLDEN resident for ONE WEEK. ( CASEY DEIDRICK FC )

bio.

google doc.  (tba)

pinterest.

[ezrawalsh]

@billiematheson​  |    𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑.

baited breath is what he knows.  the persistent reminder to breathe,  and that if it was so, so important,  this kid would be calling the cops and not the coworker.  that’s right.  but as he pulls into the lot,  he finds himself amidst bunting-lined parking and a nightclub pulse known to downtown saturday nights,  unknown to golden.        𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  answers a quiet desperation,  slung across arched banner,  bold subject of discarded flyers that pathe the way to a warm glow / loud buzz.  the string lights direct him in a way billie has not;  usually a girl determined to fill the silence,  it’s been a painfully mute fifteen minutes.   it can only mean her phone is dead--- that’s the extent of his imagination.  that’s all that he will allow of it.   but dead end is found in a sea of masks and black capes.  it’s where the gps tracker has stopped---- and so the effort to keep his hands out of his hair,  tugging at the roots there, is conscious and stubborn.   ezra can’t help the spinning on his feet,  though,  nor these wide eyes.  he was never good at finding wally,  what luck’s he got spotting a girl he barely knows?

[ezrawalsh]

💬 text : ezra 👴🏻💖

billie: can't answer call.... too weak.... tell my family i love them x

billie: noooo, not the police!! there's already a kid here dressed as pumbaa, we don't need any more pigs

billie: i just need u... even if it's just to say goodbye.. farewell my friend...

Ezra: [ Incoming Call ] 📞

Ezra: [ Missed Call ] ❌

Ezra: [ Incoming Call ] 📞

Ezra: [ Missed Call ] ❌

Ezra: Pick up!

[ezrawalsh]

💬 text : ezra 👴🏻💖

billie: ezra... ez... ezzie... my SAVIOUR

billie: 📍[ location sent ]

billie: no but pls hurry !! i'm in so much danger !!

billie: i feel weak. the light is fading from my eyes.... it's so hard to even text....

Ezra: [ Incoming Call ] 📞

Ezra: [ Missed Call ] ❌

Ezra: WHAT? BILLIE? CALL ME! I'm on my way. Calling the police, hang on.

[ezrawalsh]

💬 text : ezra 👴🏻💖

billie: SOS !!

billie: it's billie from 7/11 btw, i stole ur number to bombard u with memes but this IS AN ACTUAL EMERGENCY

billie: pls help !!!

Ezra: Billie, I'm so sorry I didn't see this until now. What's going on? Send me your location and I'll be there ASAP.

Ezra: Do you need me to bring anything!

[theclassicsreader]

“Summer after summer has ended, / balm after violence: / it does me no good / to be good to me now; / violence has changed me.”

— Louise Glück, from “October” (via theclassicsreader)

[ezrawalsh]

billiematheson​:

               The word ‘nonchalance’ is not a word in Billie’s vocabulary, nor is it a sensation she’s ever experienced, as anyone who’s had the misfortune of spending more than a minute in her company will testify. Case in point : induction day at 7-Eleven, a total non-event for most employees, has her all but fizzing with excitement.  A new friend ! Someone to challenge to duels with sad-looking baguettes and experience slushie-induced brain freezes with ! Someone to laugh with – or at, depending on their vibes. Vibes are massively important on Planet Billie, and Ezra Walsh is currently serving her poor little meow meow vibes.  Still, she thinks he’s cool, but Billie’s a broad church, and her definition of ‘cool’ tends to cover anything that would give her parents a headache  (  their daughter working alongside the Ezra Walsh is one of those things, headache-inducing at its finest. )    Everyone knows of Ezra around here, but Billie would like to think she has special insider knowledge, one ex-offender to another ( juvie was cushier than full-blown prison, but still.  )  They’re blood brothers, comrades in arms… soon they’ll be tattooing their former cell numbers on each other’s eyelids, trading jail tales… they’re fated to be besties…

              “Can’t you just breathe in a bit, babe ?”     True to form, she makes absolutely no attempt to lower her voice, oblivious to potential embarrassment an ill-fitting shirt could bring.  “It’s the biggest one I could find. It’s not my fault you’re built like Shrek.”   There’s a pause and the mistaken impression that she may actually be quiet – but nope, wishful thinking, she’s just taking in a breath.                 “I still reckon I could beat you in an arm wrestling match, though. That’s part one of your induction, by the way ! Part two is a piggyback ride.”                It’s actually ‘a shop tour’ followed by ‘till-training’ but well, that’s just boring and pedantic, isn’t it ?

   it isn’t like ezra to complain.  actually,  it takes a lot.  his return---   all stripped of that glory he’d once made his entire person  ( and loudly!)  ---  came with a few set backs,  yeah.  privacy is squeezed dry and not just in the spare room hanging off his parent’s kindness like a tumour.  small town syndrome means everybody knows the worst,  and he finds himself caring.  ezra cares about what they know,  how much;  do they know the reason for his parents downsizing?  does it even need saying?  he’ll be in the grocery line with this turbulence and these things didn’t used to matter.   her name tag reads billie,  and the rest of her reads unconcerned about these finer details.  so he won’t ask again,  opting for the hoodie and silence on the matter.     the woman,  --- or,  girl?   --- billie.   billie oozes what’s hybrid of confident and carefree.  it’s a demeanour wasted on golden.   unusual here,  moreso on him.  she mustn't know,  then.  but surely she would have been told?   it isn’t time for ezra to spiral grocery-line style;  his clouded confusion leaves him mute and deaf in the name of shrek,  arm wrestling.  but piggyback ride he returns to.     “  a piggy back ride ?  “   by god’s grace,  a single laugh slips.  but it’s all mingled in hesitation and it isn’t natural.  ezra could be better at reading people.  especially now.  is that a joke?------ surely,  she can’t actually mean it.    “  what for---- to where?   “    this place is small,  and the aisles?   ezra probably has to walk sideways to avoid disturbing the environment.   unless she opens up the storage closet and it leads out to narnia...  “ we'd just make a mess, wouldn’t we? “   

[ezrawalsh]

birdydunn·:

birdy blinks.  then, she blinks again.  his response does little to detract from the awkwardness, instead seeing it swell to twice its size.  any minute, now.  birdy thinks.  that great big hole should be opening up.  her gaze drops to the poor excuse she’s picked out for an evening meal, ravenous hunger having dissipated to nothing at all.  for a girl so clumsy with emotion of her own, she’s quick to read a room.  and this room?  it begs to be one less full.  alright, he wants her to go.  that’s fine.  that’s fine, right?  birdy would have plenty of time to retrace her dogged steps through this cringing conversation later on, over a lukewarm sandwich and a too sweet drink.  she has that to look forward to, at least (heavy sarcasm).  it takes her a moment longer than it should to pull the cash from her back pocket — tips, from a hard day’s night.   “ that’s it. ”   she echoes, in reference to both the food and the conversation.  that’s indeed it.  there’s a feeling in birdy’s chest that begs to find air and breath, but isn’t there always?  her eyes keep closely to his hands, as he rings her up.   “ so, i guess i’ll … see you around? ”   looking up again, now.  birdy makes a play at enthusiasm, but fails (rather miserably) to stick the landing.

    it’s weird.  he’s made it weird.  which----   birdy made it weird first,  alright?  he’s the first to admit his wrongs,   call him too eager,  even,  and then to bury himself in them  &.  allow for consumption.     so know that he means it right now.   because,  really.  3AM in a shitty chain store is the antonym of   𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃.    still,  it’s not a great feeling,   looking at someone you knew once like this.  like you want her to leave.  and the thing is,  he does.   once a harbinger of joy,   now the sole subject dark eyes graze past.     still.   words get stuck.  there’s things he’d like to say,  which cannot be translated to himself nor to her.  not now,  or this late,  or after what just happened.  the mouth opens,  and it closes,   and he chucks a packet of ruffles in there for good measure.  not her favourite  ( lime & jalepeno );   you’ll find those in the aisles.   the best selling original flavour has centre stage for the impulse buyers,  and like them,  ezra makes the split decision at the very last minute,  just before its pushed onto twigs’  side of the plastic.      he’ll pay for it when she’s gone,  obviously.  put that loose change in his back pocket to good use.  wouldn’t be great losing this job so early in the name of an odd-feeling,  barely-hanging friendship.           “   sure,  “  in a way that feels in the moment like a lie.   “ get home safe,  twigs.  “

[ezrawalsh]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑.   @billiematheson​

   induction day.  sorry to inform,  but it doesn’t quite give that nervous excitement felt in the fingertips as the dream job did.  or the petrified one trembled in the seven day induction somewhere else entirely--- though for that we’re just grateful.   it’s only ezra and his nonchalance:   standing in the staff toilets,  pulling down a shirt two sizes too snug.    it doesn’t even reach his hips.   the arrogant alcoholic would favour the hug it has on his prison-built muscles,  but the ezra today despises it.    again.  this is day one.  his trainer’s outside.  and it’s not a great look to come with requests.    ( but neither is a shirt meant for a sixteen year old!  )    “   hey--  uh,   billie?   “  if he’s got her name wrong,  well.  this first impression is fucked.  ezra’s wearing his baggy hoodie to cover the dilemma,  and hands dig deep in his pockets----  since,  really,  it’s where they often find small comfort.    “  was ...  that shirt you gave me the biggest size ?    if it is,  i'll just wear this today,  if that’s alright with you.  “

[ezrawalsh]

birdydunn·:

a week.  that sits badly with her.  for all the talking people liked to do in this town, you’d think someone would’ve bothered to mention him.  to birdy, of all people!  they had certainly had plenty to say to her when he had first gotten arrested.  but no, and instead: she’s forced to face him here, unprepared, at 3am in a 7-eleven.   “ right! gotcha’. ”   the terseness in her tone is unmistakable, although it’s not directed at him – more the… situation.  the embarrassment shared between them both could’ve opened up a hole in the linoleum and swallowed them.  “ i… i mean i’ve – been around, i guess? ”   never left makes it sound like birdy had been shackled and forced to sit in one spot.  that’s him.   “ but… yeah. it’s home, right? ”    that’s her.  it isn’t the warmest reunion.  but what’s she supposed to do, huh?  press her hand up against the plastic divider between them, like some kind of shitty prime time cop show?  there had been plenty of time for birdy to have done that when he was in prison.  which she didn’t.  it would have been… weird for her to visit, right?  too much time had passed.  they were strangers, really.  only ezra didn’t feel like a stranger, right now.   “ you look good, ezra. ”   birdy will lie to him, for old time’s sake.  it’s only polite.   “ are you… good? ”   the worry that lives in her throat is almost fifteen years old.

   there’s a lot to call depressing,   so ezra tends not to call it at all.  but...    but this.  her?   and...  a convenient store,  really?  there’s a slushy-machine groaning nearby,  persistent buzz of a refrigerator that creeps down his neck,  the hum of an oven keeping packed pies maybe not decent,  but hot enough that it doesn’t matter. well--  doesn’t matter much.  it’s comical.   that words like this are shared here.  the shirt sizes too small?   again,  comical.   oh,  but twigs is keeping something from him,  tight-lip’d and short.   his mother dubs mistakes hiccups,  and somewhere here ezra’s got it wrong.    right!   gotcha.  means something.  a hiccup,  amongst the many, many others.  he would have pried,   once.   it just goes away from them now.     ah.   this he shouldn’t have forgotten.  not that direct way,  so full of concern,     not on her.  why would she ask him that?  before it can be held,  ezra’s brows furrow.   why would you ask me that?  it’s bitten down--- his tongue.  he could draw blood.  he could. hands?  --- they’re caught grasping the counter.  soon to un-clench,  because he just needed a second.  ezra needed just one.  (  because.... why! )   “  yeah,  i’m good.“   there’s no anger here,  but detected is detachment.   “ is it just this? “  he nods to what he holds;  some sandwich and a drink,  scanned and bagged.

[ezrawalsh]

birdydunn·:

birdy hears it: both the old nickname, and his question.  neither of which end up landing, to any particular effect.  she has questions of her own.   “ i… i didn’t— i didn’t know you were…”   out, she wants to say.  out where he had been in, for what?  five years?  that’s always the number she used to hear on her customer’s lips, way back when the news broke.  and it was news, in golden: more quickly and enthusiastically circulated than the regular kind that came on the tv at 5 o’clock.  birdy didn’t google it, like perhaps she should have.  she couldn’t bear seeing it all… written out in black and white.   “ —here. ”   she finishes, finally.  that’s close enough.   “ when did you, uh… get back into town? ”  birdy looks at him properly, now.  it’s forced at first, but once she starts she can’t stop.  older, (even) taller, and certainly broader.  he would have looked good… if he didn’t look like shit.  and he does look like shit, make no mistake.  he can’t have just been… walking around!  there’s no way.  birdy would have known, she would have heard, and she most definitely would have seen.  ezra was tough to lose in a crowd (and golden was hardly a crowd).   “ recently… i guess. ”

   here could be anywhere.   on the cushy surface it says golden.  but brown eyes look at him too fuckin’ long.   what she means is out of prison.   and that means she knows.  of course she does.  ezra lacks that clumsy,  chesty hope once held,  so he knew she would have heard.  golden is good at that.  knowing your worst fucking decision   ( and that’s what it was,  a choice ),  tossing it around in hush-tone ‘til he’s close enough.  then the cut off.  and the blinks.  a pause so pregnant,  it lasts till he passes.  and cycle repeats.    birdy cuts herself off like ‘em,  yeah.  but she meets his eye.   it’s ezra to back down.  gaze held for all of a second,  then her hands are of greater importance. one has weighted focus and the other resists an urge to cringe beneath it.     “  yeah,  it’s been bout a week now or somethin’,  “  that is something he’s gonna have to care about again:  what day it is,   how many weeks we're all blinking away.  “ and you...  never left?  ...like you said you wouldn’t.  “   at least one of ‘em can stick to their word.  

[ezrawalsh]

birdydunn·:

@ezrawalsh·

always eat before the cooks go home.  c’mon!  like she hasn’t been running that place long enough to have it figured out.  but birdy (as she so often does) gets herself all swept up in the jobs that must be done.  and who could blame her?  the list never ends.  but before she knows it: it’s coming up on 3am and she’s locking the doors to go home.  starving!  well, fuck.  it’s a rare and brilliant day that you’ll find birdy in the kitchen, and it certainly won’t be at this time of night.  so rather, and without giving it much second thought, she swings her old pick-up trunk into the connivence store parking lot.  no big deal… right? birdy doesn’t bother locking her car door (by all means, let someone else try and get that piece of shit running), enveloped by the unsightly fluorescents before she even gets in the place.  birdy doesn’t bother with pleasantries, instead b-lining towards any semblance of hot food.  it’s a cold night.  she decides upon some sort of sad looking sandwich, snagging a cold drink from the fridge before making her way up to the till. and still, birdy doesn’t look up (blame it on the hanger); not until after she dumps the items on the counter between them.   “ and a packet of—– ezra?! ”   big red, she means to say.  but ezra comes out first.

    he’s not as bad as he looks.    no,  really.   these bags?   it’s 3am.  the ex-cons get the graveyard shift and hell,  ezra’s not complain’, he's just not used to it; day two and all.   so he’s cleaning toilets.  he’s stocking shelves.  he’s finding work where there is none,  sweeping twice-swept floor.  he’s making a living.  that’s what this is.  living.  in a shirt that doesn’t fit him  ( they’ll get his size,  they say.  not used to thirty year old,  6″4 men,  i s’pose  ).    of course,  he sees her as soon as the bell above door sounds.  attention is demanded,  and it never quite fades as an old friend----  that’s right,  someone he knew----creates makeshift basket,  hugging goods to her chest so none fall.     there’s too much happening in the tight of his own chest for him to notice the way she stands taller,  now.  taller than before,  the cheekbones sharper.  gaze,  too.  until she sees him.  he’s been looking,  but twigs hasn’t.      in theory, then,  ezra should have something to say.  fucking---- anything,   dude.     fingers speak before he does.   pushing into the back of his neck,  that nervous instinct carried from childhood to lanky teens to prison to 7-eleven.       “   hey,  uh,  twigs.  “  he’s willing it to sound normal.  it’s meek,  which is not like ezra.  which is not like ezra at all.   “ how y’been? “

[sharpcbjects-a]

[deadwatered]

familiarity

[2stelle]

Here.. I have nothing. Midnight Mass (2021), dir.  Mike Flanagan

[ssweeneys]

CASEY DEIDRICK FOR BELLO MAGAZINE