DATED — november 15th, 8:45PM LOCATED — the garfield conservatory WITH — @harder-than-titanium STATUS — closed
An hour and fifteen minutes. Time has slowed to a halt. To most people, five hours being surrounded by people in a place like the Garfield Conservatory should be nothing. A walk in the park — or the greenhouse, supposing. For three hours, Eoin managed to feign some sense of duty, and as the minutes ticked by, his resolve went with them. He finds himself sitting on a bench, shirt only half tucked in, his tie half undone indicative of continuous pulling on the knot until it starts to slip. Elbows on his knees, the distinct smell of the smoke pouring from his nostrils is lost in the pronounced scent of the assorted plants and flowers he’s surrounded by.
It’s not like he can’t function when he’s stoned. In fact, if you ask Eoin, he does his best work under the influence of weed, or drugs in general. Sober, it’s like there’s an itch in his brain that he can’t scratch unless he breaks open his own skull, or that of someone else. The tension that has been gathering in his body slides off him in slow, gentle waves with every additional drag of the joint. With his eyes closed, one might just mistake him as peaceful.
After an eternity, Eoin straightens up again, joint barely hanging between his lips, and casts his eyes down to the watch he’d inevitably stolen from some rich sod a few years ago. 8:46PM, it tells him, as the smoke he’d only just exhaled is inhaled again quickly in annoyance. Time just does that, doesn’t it? He likes it much more when he can spend ten minutes staring at a ceiling for sixteen hours, when time simply slips away from him and he has no qualms about keeping up with it.
Plucking the joint from his mouth with his thumb and index finger, Eoin looks up in time to make eye contact with a guy that only looks vaguely familiar. “What?” he grunts out, his voice like sandpaper against hardwood. “If you wanna part with your eyes, keep lookin’.”
