Bett kept her hoodie up and sunglasses on, thankful for the constant sun on California that she didn’t look entirely out of place with them on. She ducked into a diner, not wanting to be spotted and thinking lost in a crowd of people going about their day and focused more on what’s in front of them than around would be far better than being caught in public and having attention around her. Unfortunately for her, however, the diner had to be packed, of course it did. She couldn’t see the person until she came up close to the booth thinking it was empty.
“Sorry, do you mind if I sit here? It will be only for a little bit. I can find another spot if it is too much trouble.” Her Spanish accent swirled into her words, she was unsettled enough to actually go back to Spanish but for now she could process her own thoughts into English. She hoped the guy would be kind enough to let her take a seat, but she knew people enjoyed their privacy. She knew that too well.
“Go ahead...” he murmured, inclining his head towards the seat across from him. The accent threw him off, if only just because he was used to the lilt coming in a different accent. A part of him wondered if he should switch to Spanish, but he decided it might be odd. Nimrod lifted his cup for another sip, barely tasting the liquid, but he wanted time to adjust to this change. The diner had gotten very crowded since he’d arrived earlier that morning, but that was to be expected. “Good morning, by the way.”
He took a seat at the other side, facing the man as he cradled the cup of coffee between his hands still. His eyes were glued to the dark liquid for a little longer, from his lips came only a little sigh of relief being now at a safe place of sorts. To Drew, a man used to people approaching him for songs and/or talk a little in the late hours of the night, it did not bother him to share a table. In fact, he hadn’t noticed the other’s actions until a couple of minutes later that the pianoman rose his stare.
Of course there was silence, finding a couple of eyes staring back at him Drew was startled a little. Was the guy waiting for him to say something? Perhaps it wasn’t as ok as he said it was…
“Thank you man, I really needed to sit down” he began, the brim of the cup grazed his lips before a sip. “I’m hope I’m not bothering you really. I’ll take a cup or two and leave, most likely.” At least I think so… “I just need to wake up. Have you had one of those days you are like a walking zombie?”
“Not a problem...” he mumbled again, one finger tapping against his mug. It wasn’t that he was impatient, more of just a habit that sprung to life when he sat still for too long. But he didn’t consider it a bad habit, anyway, it had never hurt anyone and at most it was just a little annoying.
“Walking zombie?” he repeated, brow quirking ever so slightly at the reference, “No, I do not think so...” He had always been a morning person. Not that he was more cheerful, that was rarely the case. But he had been so used to waking up, and for so many years, that mornings, or any time of day, rarely bothered him. Sleep was a luxury, not a necessity for him. “Do you need another cup, though?” he glanced around with his good eye, looking for a waiter, “Or have you tried going for a run?” Exercise was the best way to get anything done, in his opinion.
“Would you mind if I sit?” he asked, holding the cup of coffee cradled between his hands. He was having one of those days when tiredness was hard to cope with having pulled a day without sleeping. Why had he neglected slumber: a closing shift playing for those that had been so wasted to leave for a while and some other duties within the bar. Larry’s orders.
When there had not been a blink of rest, his focus was far from functioning and the synesthesia bothered him more than usual. The shades of colors in voicesand Harmony’s noises could be so distracting that any bad step could end up fatal for a man prone to accidents; so definitely walking towards the nearest place with available pots of coffee had been a better idea than going all the way to his apartment for the moment. At least until he woke up more, then he’d crash at his sofa.
“Sorry to bother you though, it’s alright if you say no”
His shoulders rose in a slight shrug before dropping down again. “Go ahead,” he spoke softly, nodding slightly towards the seat across from him before he took another slow sip. Upon lowering the coffee the mug was now closer to his chest. Nimrod didn’t have anything against this man, but he was always cautious. Better safe than sorry, the habit had been ingrained in him over the years.
For the briefest of moments, he wondered if the man felt at all awkward. He was comfortable with silence, but most people were not. The thought put his attention on the man, one eyebrow cocked ever so slightly as he watched, searching for any signs of discomfort, taking another sip of the coffee as he did. It did not occur to him that this behavior might also cause discomfort. Nimrod was out of practice when it came to interacting with other human beings.
Diners were always a good place to start. They were the perfect place to get a strong cup of coffee and sit by a window on the mornings when Nimrod realized, too late, that he had run out of coffee. Most mornings when he arrived, the diner he’d found near his apartment was mostly empty. He was an early riser, a habit formed over the years. But this morning, due to an inability to find his right shoe, he’d arrived later than usual. The diner began to fill up soon after he sat in his usual booth, tucked in the corner furthest away from the door.
One cup off coffee had already been downed, and he had begun on his second. Sipping was an act of waiting, though he was unsure of what he was waiting for. Every sip or two he’d raise the mug to his lips again, resting his lips on the rim, but not drinking any liquid. He was in the process of one such “sip” when he heard movement beside him, the side he couldn’t see. Nim turned, just enough to see someone standing close to him. He was unsure as to why.
Time: Approximately 2:00am, Wednesday, April 29th, 2015
Location: Nimrod’s apartment, Harmony, California
Inspiration: n/a
It was only a matter of time before the ceiling collapsed. Mold stained the ceiling, creeping out from the corner over his bed. It was darker than any other part of the drywall above his head, the material starting to warp and curl onto itself. Occasionally some water slipped down to the floor below, the wood there warping as a result. It probably would have made more sense for Nimrod to place his mattress in any of the other corners of the room, especially once he’d noticed that it had started growing mold. But, practical as he was the majority of the time, the drip reminded him of better days. Ones where he didn’t even have the comfort of a mattress and, despite the fact that too much water had certainly not been a problem, the conditions were much worse than the ones here. It may have been wrong to miss a war zone, but at least there he had a reason to wake up in the morning. Today, just like every other day after he’d arrived in America, he couldn’t even begin to wrap his mind around the thought that there might one day be a reason.
Nimrod’s eyes slid shut, just as a drop of water hit his nostril, slowly oozing it’s way down his cheek. It smelt stale, just as everything else in his apartment did. It was a small, broken, attic apartment, but that was perfect for him. The accommodations were much better than the ones he felt at home with. Rent was exceedingly cheap, And no one, landlord included, bothered him. Most importantly, it was quiet. He could hear his breathing, time to the tapping of his toe against the inside of his boot. In for ten, hold for five, out for ten. Repeat. A trick he’d learned, to keep from thinking too hard. Focus on something simple, and put all your concentration in it. He didn’t need thoughts, not wanting that headache thrumming against his temples at the moment.
The knocking of hard-soled shoes against the floor threw off his counting. He hadn’t expected the sound, faint as it was. Whoever lived below him usually did not return so early. Two in the morning being early for his neighbor. But regardless of the hour, that return always caused a clamor. For a moment Nimrod contemplated going down and snapping at whoever it was (man or woman, he never cared to check). But, just as he did every night, he decided against it, not worth the fuss. He knew well enough that confrontation turned too many eyes in his direction, and while he used to relish it… It wasn’t worth the fuss anymore. But the noise did prompt him to get up, a soft groan escaping his lips as he crossed into the bathroom.
With a squeak, the faucet turned and water poured out, washing over his waiting hands. Absentmindedly, Nimrod brushed his teeth, toe still tapping a steady rhythm as he counted how long it took him to accomplish the task. He rinsed his hands again, before raising it to his face to slip out his prosthetic. He rinsed it, quick, then dropped it into a container of lukewarm saline solution, twisting the lid on tight to make sure nothing got in. An infection would be a hassle. He turned and walked out again, back to bed. This time he sat on the edge, instead of laying down, slowly undressing. Shirt first, neatly folded and placed at the foot of his bed, followed by his pants. Socks afterwards, and soon a plastic leg joined the pile. Then Nimrod lay down again, closing his eyes. But this time the drip wasn’t the only sound in the room. It assisted a hum, keeping time for it, as Nimrod slowly sang himself to sleep, just as his mother would. God, he missed her.
