@mikeyds SAID: have you been lonely?
𝙻𝙾𝚂 𝚂𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙾𝚂, 𝚂𝙰𝙽 𝙰𝙽𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚂, 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙿 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈 𝙼𝙴𝙴𝚃𝚂 𝙵𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙰𝚂𝚈.
what is loneliness? is it emptiness, a never-ending void spilling from open pores? is it the absence of companionship, or the presence of it? a room full of people can transmute into acid gas, drowning her in poison. [new york used to be full of it. rooms full of people, inebriated by their own loneliness. los santos was different: a rhythmic debauchery, man’s most primitive needs hung up on dazzling billboards.] at some point, her eyes must have fallen shut, the waves of the ocean splitting against the shore sounding closer than before. it must have been for a moment too long, for when they reopen, his face is checkered with small, hazy, orbs.
❛❛ DON’T BE RIDICULOUS. I’M NEVER LONELY. ❜❜ something akin to amusement takes form at the corners of her mouth. the patio has long emptied; empty glasses and plates still strewn across tabletops. the late evening breeze blows rhythmically through the atmosphere, moving her hair as spilled ink against the skin of her cheek. [in the corner of the patio, at their table, with the shine of the string lights reflecting on their faces, they almost look like normal people.] a clink as the neck of the bottle touches the glass, perspiration coating her fingers, aureate liquid swirling against the crystal.
❛❛ i tried to call you, one or twice. you didn’t pick up. not that i expected you to. you’re not the most reliable person i know. ❜❜ a second glass is filled, the now empty bottle between them. ❛❛ i kind of expected to see you on the FIVE P.M. news. a john doe found in some ditch outside los santos. [A PAUSE. glass is picked up, words spoken against its brim.] this city’s getting dangerous, mikey, with all these robbers running around in our backyard. you never know what could happen. ❜❜
