Aug 2, 2018
In an ironic twist of fate, the fire station was frigid. Roscoe had given away almost all of the supplies he’d had, and the only thing he’d kept for himself was a thermal blanket that barely fit around his solid frame. Still, he clung to it like it would do much of anything, as did everyone else. Some people huddled around candles, others shared blankets, and still others chose to share body heat. Having found a place by the wall to sit by, Roscoe watched everyone with a wary eye (but particularly those goddamn Dragovics), attention only broken when someone seemed as if they were approaching.
“If you want the blanket,” he said, “I’ll trade it for a water bottle. But if you’re looking to goddamn cuddle, find someone else.”