if you see this, post a snippet of your WIP
[ having seen @mizzhydes ‘s snippet <3 ]
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Down on the washed in New York’s light pollution and the last strands of daylight street below, an old drunk has just urinated on the wall. On himself as well, judging by the moves he performs as he sways away in the stinky, nearly-passed-out-and-drooling way. A scabby stray dog is sniffing around him in little of interest, more of a habit. Even the stray dogs get bored out of their skulls in NYC sometimes.
One person turns their head and follows the drunk with their gaze. Probably a tourist — it’s come to Harry’s attention that the real New Yorkers are nigh pathological about minding their own business.
It’s that nice and quiet part of the evening in Queens, close to curfew for kids his age, and before what the media call “hardcore crime” starts happening.
There’s a knock on the door of the apartment inside of which Harry has started thinking of taking on the self-promise to open Prus’ The Doll, disregarding his mom’s curious look, one of too many. He just needs to know why Izabela was a “bitch.” Whatever that means. (Concluding from his mom’s yet another look, it’s not a synonym to “beach.”)
His mom’s voice comes muffled from the bathroom.
“Harry, would you mind? Miss May’s supposed to drop by!”
He puts the book carefully on the wooden coffee table and slides his feet into his Stitch slippers.
“Comin’!” He calls, scampering up to the door.
He pulls the doorknob without checking — he’s still not tall enough for the Judas — and smiles, expecting nobody else but Miss May from the door across the floor.
He finds someone of the opposite sex. And smaller. And with a sunny smile stretching a smooth, pale face.
“You’re not Miss May,” Harry says matter-of-factly, tilting his head and leaning against the door frame.
“You can call me so,” the boy quips, heavy accent juicing his angelic voice. Harry frowns at himself for the comparison.
“No thanks?”
“Then it’s just Louis.” Louis draws out a hand. The way his wrist is angled pulls Harry’s attention, but doesn’t distract him from shaking the cold hand.
“I’m just Harry.”
