Five Minutes; I'm Yours

Anything happens in that five minutes and I'm yours. No matter what. Anything happens a minute either side of that, and you're on your own. Do you understand?

[starkkarim]

[handsalittledirty]

annalerrel:

B r e a t h e. This is the first thing Anna tells herself every time this happens. At least it doesn’t happen often — that’s something she tells herself, as well.  Her pride and joy, her baby-blue, custom-convertible well-oiled machine of fuel economy and style, won’t start. And she has a meeting this morning. She can’t afford to be late for work.

She’s breathing, all right, as she steps out of the traitorous vehicle and slams the door behind her; albeit rapidly and angrily and not with the deep, zen-like tranquility recommended for situations like this. Her phone’s already in her hand, thumbing through screens to find the Uber app. She keys in the address of her workplace and her index hovers for a moment over the POOL option – but who’s got time for ride sharing? Not Anna, not today. She doesn’t mind the added expense of the ride when a major deal is riding on her punctuality. She’ll throw money at the problem to shave off minutes: She selects UberX and sweeps quickly through the rest. Then it’s just a waiting game – counting the minutes, sucking furiously on a cigarette and pacing impatiently on the sidewalk, until her ride arrives.

@handsalittledirty

It’s only part time, is what he says about the Uber driving when asked. Really it isn’t even that. There’s no specific hours to keep, and he can stop whenever he wants to or when it’s time to clock in at the garage. He already spends time learning the layout of the city for getaways. Why not use that knowledge to make even more money on the side? He’s not a man of great material needs, but there’s rent and necessities and now two cars to maintain. 

The beep of a new rider ruptures the quiet inside the car, and there’s quick acceptance. An estimated time of eight minutes shows on the screen, but he easily turns that into five by utilizing a lesser known side street to avoid one of the busier intersections slammed with morning traffic. The car rolls up the curb with time to spare, and he throws it into park, presses ‘Arriving now’ on the app, and sits back to wait.

[handsalittledirty]

penpursuiits:

      All this time, her voice has been steady rising. It’s clear Sheila’s mood is advancing towards ‘risk’ territory. “Okay, okay, Renee. I don’t WANT to be intrusive but we’re practically sisters, y’know? So. See. Me. As. A. Sister when I ask…when was your dad there for you?” ON THIS DAY standing outside her building, doing all she can to not watch people go about their lives within their beautiful cars: Sheila has vowed to never carpool again. Yes, such a thought is but one stemming from anger but really, what were the pros of riding shotgun?       Is it distributing money after each ride? Or waiting after work to be picked up – wondering where they are as they said it’d be a MINUTE for their arrival only for a minute to become five minutes? And of course, the abrupt cancellations. The ever-so-important, always-urgent emergencies. Sheila should be more empathetic, or at least pretend to be so for Renee’s sake. Alas, it’s not hard: it’s impossible after being let down by her so many times in a row. But of course, there’s a price to pay for apathy as clear as day.       “Renee, I didn’t mean it that way, you know that! I’M talkin’ about – you promised me. You SAID you had t’pick up some things too! So now I’m, LITERALLY standing out here looking dumb because-“ her father, her father: as Renee’s defensive words came to battle against Sheila’s, eyes narrow. Her thoughts are officially but a jumble, there’s no clear words are capable of being deciphered: not only that, but she’s unaware to who may hear. (Careless of who may hear.)

   “LOOK! Be there for your dad, ‘kay?!” And get abandoned by him again. “I’ll make it, I said I’ll make it!” Beep.    So, what now? Phone tight in clutch, the woman is unsure of who else to call for her ride. The last thing she wants to do is go up the elevator, back to Hammy, who will surely be pissed off by her lack of grocery bags. And more importantly, a lack of cat food. But she’ll find somebody! This Sheila thinks to herself, there must be one friend who is entirely free. Once again, her phone is turned on as she prepares to find that one somebody. 

    It’s entirely by chance that he catches the end of this conversation. His regular M.O. is to be up and about by nine thirty in the morning on an off day, but now it’s a quarter past eleven. No pressing engagements await; just a mundane list of errands. He needs more coffee, more milk from the corner grocery and to pick up an ordered part from the NAPA store.    That’s why there’s no real hustle to his step. He moves like the world can wait. But this is when Shelia Campbell’s problems intersect with his leisurely afternoon. Her back is to him as he exits the building, and the argument she’s having hits an aggravated crescendo before a curt hang up. But she’s back on the phone moments later, obviously looking for another favor she can call in.

    It takes only a few steps to walk past her. But he only gets to the edge of the sidewalk before conscience gets the better of him. The heat of the day is rising, and he doesn’t know how long she’ll be stranded out here. Feet stall, and he turns on his heel, peering at her through dark lenses. “Everything okay?”

[handsalittledirty]

opheliasang:

     music fills the air around her apartment & out, into the hallway. she’s long before grown accustomed to letting it flow out into the rest of the building & not keep it trapped behind closed doors: driver surely won’t mind. driver. the brief thought steals a grimace from her lips as she stays focused on her dinner-making efforts: somehow the thought of him doesn’t fit in her plans, seems wrong, like a sentence left unfinished that’s still hanging in the air. not because she doesn’t enjoy his presence — she does, & she’s proven that time & again, in the way her usual solitude had slowly morphed into an open door so he could walk in & out of her apartment like she would in & out of his. no, it’s not that — it’s that something’s missing, like a song lacking a chorus. like he’s not just a friend & not just a neighbor either, like he’s something she can’t translate.

      something unpredictable, too, interrupting her stream of consciousness when she’s way too engrossed in the sauce to not be taken by surprise by his appearance. & then the inevitable happens, the spoon falling into the pot & prompting a splash of sauce by consequence, a red stain now bright & unavoidable on her shirt. “ fuck ! ” comes her curse, but the moment she raises her gaze to meet his there’s an embarrassed smile on her face. “ you gotta stop doing that. ” almost a scolding look as she tries to wipe the sauce off with some paper towel. “ ah, just — a new recipe i found. ” she doesn’t explain why she’s cooking real food for a change, or why she’s cooking for two: somehow it seems best to avoid the argument altogether & head for different topics. “ you alright ? no offense, but you look like shit. ”

    His near silent nature leads to many moments like this: an unintended scare. Even when he was younger, his father would accuse him of ‘sneaking up on people’ and tease him of being more ghost than boy. An apologetic look briefly graces his features, the “sorry” unspoken but meant all the same by sorrowful blue eyes.

   “Just tired,” is the answer. Slow but steady steps bring him into her apartment. It’s come to feel like a second home or an extension of his own space. But it’s strange for him to become so familiar with someone else’s possessions, to have intimate knowledge of such mundane items. He’d begun to feel that way about Irene and Benicio, became a seemingly intrinsic part of their dynamic. But that had fallen apart more quickly than it’d come together----irrevocably destroyed by bad luck and bad decisions.

    He eases himself onto the couch, gratefully sinking to the cushions. His head lolls back and eyes close. It’s peaceful: the radio, the simmer of sauce on the stove, the distant sound of evening traffic. But it’s Morgan, too, the more he thinks about it and the way her independence compliments his own. “You doin’ okay, Mo?” It’s his version of how are you?

[handsalittledirty]

i may live to regret this but...in his post movie verse---he drives for uber. he’s an uber driver. spread the word.

[handsalittledirty]

@opheliasang

    Returning from the garage, climbing the stairs to his apartment usually means one of two things will occur. Either he unlocks the door to his place, or he makes a regular beeline to Morgan’s apartment across the hall. It’s hard to say how they exactly started this open door policy, but it’s persisted through the months since he’d moved there and tried to put the horrors of Los Angeles behind him.      Faint music greets him as soon as he makes the landing, and with every step, there’s a growing smell of a meal in progress. She’s home for the evening, and it’s a greater comfort than he wants to admit. A shoulder leans against the door frame of her apartment, a hip soon to follow. He knows he can walk right in without causing offense. But still, he prefers the politeness, to be acknowledged first before crossing the threshold. 

    “Hey,” is the greeting, voice soft and somewhat weary. The long day is clear in the slope of his shoulders, how he leans a little more heavily than usual. “What’re you makin’?”

[wordsnquotes]

I like to watch people… I just want to figure out who they are and what they want and where they’re going.

Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451 (via wordsnquotes)

[funky-vg-beats]

Visit Original Link

fuck it lisa: the first ost

[handsalittledirty]

devotedecay:

didn’t see that coming,   but it also doesn’t take him aback   —–   that he’d miss someone in the background,   not connect the dots.   he has a lot on his mind.      “ you accusing me of being the unfriendly type,   mister ? ”      brows shoot up despite a lack of genuine surprise;   of course,   anyone would.   he’s being about as standoffish and suspicious as one can be without outright announcing their crimes.      “   …   a hooligan ? ”      this addition is a bit more sarcastic,   leading into another tease of taking the other seriously,   which he seems tirelessly set on avoiding,   since there’s no reason so far to believe he has to   —–   or should.      “ you got a lot of valuables in that garage ?   you seem awfully concerned about strangers in the area. ”

There’s something about this whole situation that reads Bad News to him. It’s a sense, a sort of keen intuition he’s trusted over the years. Normally, he doesn’t go out of his way to be rude or even speak unless necessary. But Shannon, his boss, has enough problems without someone skulking around the garage. The last thing either of them needs is stolen or damaged property when there’s client cars in nearly every bay. While he doesn’t know what the other is intending, Driver doesn’t want to find out. “----don’t come hangin’ around here,” is the firm warning.  “Next time, I’ll call the cops.”

[handsalittledirty]

penpursuiits:

      Why does she think of a serial killer when shifting her eyes, looking to him as though she’s really, really entertaining the idea at hand? Is this the price she pays for watching The Jeffrey Dahmer Files before bed? Sheila has doubts; thinking its but one of many crime documentaries she’s seen with nothing different than what she usually absorbed in the dark of the night.      But the face of the killer’s neighbor comes to mind. This neighbor, without a doubt, keeps Sheila’s head screwed tight (and more leery than usual) in regards to a neighbor who seldom spoke. A man who couldn’t be identified by a name! The elevator stops. Sheila could narrow her eyes until –       Ding!     Metallic doors part and the corners of red lips lift. That’s what Sheila likes. Gradually making her move out, she extends a finger. Black eyes seem to twinkle with charm, “You’re SWEET~!”

     The comment he takes in silence with only a nod of acknowledgement. He doesn’t expect her to leap at the offer, but he supposes it’s better that she knows there’s an option. This world runs rampant with violence, and her cautiousness is wise. After all, she doesn’t know anymore about him than he does about her: no names, ages, or general familiarity. 

   After giving her some space, a few steps ahead, he steps out of the elevator. There’s a quiet jingle of metal as he pulls out his key ring, sorts through the few until finding the key for his apartment. His door comes up before hers, and he glances up briefly, watching her back as she makes the further trek to her corresponding door. But then he slips inside his own dwelling and again becomes little more than the golden numbers hung outside: 307.

[justinamoafo]

Street Lights • Bangkok, Thailand 

Justin Amoafo, Photographer

[handsalittledirty]

@overlourdes

continued from x

         “ Dramatics aside, I think I can agree on that. Isn’t that ideal for someone in your position? To be unknown? More shadow than man. Does it carry into your personal life? If you were to die, would it be as though you never existed? — I ask only out of curiosity. ”

     Personally, he thinks professional curiosity is closer to the mark. A man with no ties, no family to question his absence is easy disposal---if it ever comes to such measures. It’s what he is, but it seems far from wise to expose such a flaw. “My landlord would miss me,” is the dry response, and whether it’s humorous or honest is difficult to tell.

[handsalittledirty]

penpursuiits:

     “Tie Rod.” So quickly announced, you couldn’t even take the time to wonder if that was a little bit of anger in her tone or a pinch of distress. Well, Sheila could not think of the situation without feeling one emotion or the other coming over her. “I thought-” she begins only to fold in her bottom lip.

    “I took the chance of going on the highway, once. Then! I took the chance three times and-” A smile is crafted: one showing embarrassment, self-pity and full responsibility for her circumstance. “Third time’s the charm~?” The smile falls once eyes go forward. Sheila sighs.

   Eyebrows briefly knit together. It’s a fairly common problem, and most of them only break under slower speeds. But her car must have had looser joints or maybe someone cut her off and she slammed on the brakes. Both are possibilities, but only his mechanical mind can get sidetracked on such an idle thought. 

    A thin smile pulls at his mouth, but it fades just as quickly as he goes to speak again. "I saw someone drop you off. ‘S why I asked.” He’s not the particularly nosy type, but there is a certain convenience he can offer since they’re in the same building. “If you need a ride, I don’t work on weekends.”

[handsalittledirty]

Driver has never been what anyone would call a country mouse. He’s always loved the city and how a person can get lost in it, how they can exist there and no one really know them. He grew up in large, bustling hot spots. His father never lingered for long in one place either; two years at minimum, six maximum. Driver was born in Memphis but spent his childhood and teenage years bouncing between Atlanta, GA, Miami, FL, Brooklyn, NY, Chicago, IL & Newark, NJ. He has more of a northern accent due to living longer in the latter cities. He’s accustomed to asphalt and traffic and a million side streets---some that lead to nowhere. The sight of towering skyscrapers blocking the skyline is nostalgic rather than an eyesore. All the city lights feel more like home than seeing stars in the sky. 

[hopelxss]

i am more dangerous

[handsalittledirty]

Mob / Mafia verse drop. He starts out as nothing more than a driver, someone to run guns and drugs for the operation. But when a run goes bad and Driver's quick under pressure thinking and viciousness saves everyone's skins, he gets moved up to enforcer and eventually is known as The Scorpion.

[jessicahide]

T2: TRAINSPOTTING SENTENCE MEME modify as necessary! cw for drug use, heart problems, and gendered slurs.

I’m afraid it’s a no.

No two ways about that.

What do they think I am?

If they’d put on a proper defence of diminished responsibility, I could’ve walked out that door a free man.

What was the last fucking thing I told you?

I think it would be better if we brought this meeting to a close, and you and I get together once you’ve had time to reflect upon the situation.

How was I supposed to know?

So that was me. no job, no money.

This is for you. It’s a recording. A keepsake so the memory need never fade.

I’m your blackmailer, and your salvation.

You cooperate with me, no one will ever see this video.

You disgusting shit! I will not stand for this!

I hope you’ve not been fucking drinking.

I think you’ve done quite enough already.

I said I’m not doing this. I feel sick.

Worked the first time, didn’t it?

I don’t like to think of you working there, okay?

I could have been killed and you would have done nothing.

Please, I want to go home.

It was very peaceful at the end.

She kept your room exactly how you left it. She always hoped you’d come back some day.

I’m sorry for all the things I destroyed.

You are so beautiful. The most beautiful in the world. And I only ever made this world ugly.

I want to see you both smile again.

What the fuck are you doing to me?

I was just fucking saving your life!

You ruined my fucking life!

Can you not stay a bit longer?

Give a man a little bit of dignity for once, eh?

So what have you been up to for twenty years?

The great wave of gentrification has yet to engulf us.

You thieving fucking bastard!

What am I supposed to do with that? Buy a fucking time machine?

No, it doesn’t work like that.

What I’m gonna do is I’m gonna draw him back in as my friend, my very best friend, my partner, and then I’m gonna hurt him. I’m gonna hurt him in every way that I can.

I’m gonna make him sorry he ever came back.

What’s the fucking matter with you?

I cannot live on a promise.

It’s not getting it out of your body that’s the problem. It’s getting it out of your mind.

Be addicted. Be addicted to something else.

Your blood runs in my veins.

Would you stop looking at your fucking watch?

I am to persuade you to stay and help him.

It will mean so much to have his oldest friend by his side in this exciting new business opportunity.

I’m getting divorced.

You just came back to tell me that?

Any misfortune which befalls you is music to my ears.

Why’d you lie to me?

I didn’t want to tell you the truth.

It was a problem. It was a big fucking problem.

Oh, fuck off.

Three months ago, I suffered what I’ve been told was an episode of acute coronary insufficiency. Like a heart attack.

It should last another thirty years, they said, but they didn’t say what to do with those thirty years. Two or three, fine, I’ll take that. I can cope with that. I can think of enough things to do to piss away what remains. But thirty? What am I supposed to do with that?

I’m forty-six and I’m fucked!

I’ve got no home. I’ve got nowhere that I think of as a home.

The sad thing is, the most pathetic thing of all, is that I can’t think of anything better.

She doesn’t really like staying over. She complains that it’s a mess, all that sort of thing.

Grab anything you can carry.

If we’re not back in an hour, call the police. Just tell them we’re dead.

I’ll just fucking make something up.

I can’t play the fucking piano.

My mate and I would like to sing a song that we wrote.

Where did it all go wrong?

Where I come from, the past is something to forget, but here it’s all you talk about.

You are clearly so in love with each other that I feel awkward in your company.

Instead of looking at me you should get naked and fuck each other.

Well, that’s a blow and no mistake, no two ways about that.

Does he still take heroin?

She’s too young for you.

Since we’re having this conversation, I can tell you that fully consensual, emotionally driven, not-for-profit sexual intercourse has been attained.

We’ve had our rough patches. I’ll be the first to admit that.

I’m gonna fucking tear him to pieces.

He’s not a good person, but I like him.

I like your stories. I think you should write them down.

I’m trying hard, but I’m not feeling anything.

We were young. Bad things happened. It’s over. Can we go home now?

We’re here as an act of memorial.

Nostalgia. That’s why you’re here. You’re a tourist in your own youth.

I ought to fucking kill you.

At least I have my dignity.

First there’s an opportunity. Then there is a betrayal.

Where is he? Don’t say, ‘Who?’ Don’t say, ‘I don’t know.’ Just fucking tell me where he is.

What is all this shit anyway?

I did steal the money, but they shouldn’t have been surprised. We stole from all sorts of people. Shops, businesses, neighbours, family. Friends was just one more class of victim.

You got to vamoose.

There’s something I have to do tonight, and then I’m going away. One way or another, it’ll be a long time before you see me again.

I just thought I’d come by and say good luck. That’s all.

World changes. Even if we don’t.

I’m so sorry! I’ve done a terrible thing!

You know, I killed a man once. A man who’d done nothing to me. He just looked at me the wrong way in a moment when I was thinking of you.

Never got my money back. Never got my hope back.

Come on, it’s not like you to be so shy.

We had it all before us, didn’t we? Had it all still to come. And now here we are.

What about me? What about fucking men like me? What do I get?

All I can take with my bare hands. All I can get with my fists. Is that what I fucking get?

It will be safe if you leave with me.

That’s what he told me.

Well, that’s the problem.