There

      It was  too hot, it didn’t like that sticky feeling of humidity. Even in the bare minimum. But he endured, he was there for a reason. Watching. A day’s worth of doing just that, watching. Waiting and watching some more. At least there was a breeze...All walks of life and this particular instance a woman clearly struggling. She had a round face, charming even in her demeanor like it was one of those comedies he’d never been inclined to actually see anymore but the particular brand rudimentary. It wasn’t until one of the papers floated nearby that he felt inclined out of expected politeness to help collect what he could, in turn coming face to face with another Beaumont resident. Another small chat.  Winded at the efforts he held out the papers he roughly collected,  “I hope you have copies and these aren’t terribly valuable. Otherwise I apologize for the shoe marks and tear on one of the sheets. I hope I didn’t do too much damage.” 

It was obvious to any bystander that Keats Stefano was bleeding. What may have been less obvious, however, was the reason for that very put-upon look on his face, his apparent lack of regard for his current state, and that splintered piece of wood in his (yes, very obviously bleeding, very minimally cloth-covered) hand. His other hand was busy pressing his cellphone to his ear. 

      The voice on the other end, Everett could imagine as the sole source of a doctors bill no more. The joke really at hand in that she probably would pay for his new screen too. He didn’t even almost say because he had more control than that. Instead he bent down to pick up the wrecked phone by the fingertips given the blood and potential drip from the receiving hand. Common courtesy went a long way. Drugs were the first initial thought but there wasn’t enough in the pupils to really detect. Not that he really cared, as long as he remained untouched. “Time for that impending upgrade it looks...” 

“Holy f-uuck.” Miles managed to mutter between her groans, he was certainly sounding like a caveman that he actually was. I mean, think about it, you had to be a caveman to drink three bottles of Whiskey, then pass out on a random spot that he has never seen before. “Where am I?” He asked, trying to move his body but he was one hundred percent positive he’d throw up if he ever managed to stand up. 

     New York was noisy but it was an easy adjustment when you let it bleed into your every day, became a symphony. London’s Camden Town nightlife even at least swelling with poetic unrest. Here though, he was hardly expecting to be confronted with fraternity-like disruptions. It was disconcerting mostly, his lawn being a free-for-all, this house was far too open he’d decided then and there. “Nowhere to remember. Stand up and I’ll call you a ride.” 

It was ridiculous, Jonah knew that, but some mornings he needed to get out before heading for the clinic. Today was one of those days. Jacket zipped right up to his chin, walking boots and socks on his feet, a mission in mind. It was five a.m. and he was power walking his way down one of the streets of Beaumont, fully intending on getting a couple of miles in before he needed to make his way to work. He was rounding a corner on the edge of town when he finally spotted someone, greeting them with a perhaps a little too cheery, “Here’s me thinking I’d be the only one awake!”

       To maintain balance and structure it required routine. It required attention to minute details that to some he was well aware were easily dominated by distractions. Gluttony especially, in this country to an exponential degree and a degree that resulted in laziness. He couldn’t afford to be lazy. It wasn’t fitness, it was endorphins and capacity to run on the bare minimum for longer periods of time. He was a night owl after all, and he liked his nights—distracted from the sound of the pavement under his running shoes and harsh breathing by another one these cheerier than usual type of people, the man finding a common ground—perhaps he was lonely or one of those who liked to hear his own voice even when a simple ‘excuse me’  or a wave would do just fine, “Not today.” He said as if it was actually worth commenting on, “Up with the sun. Probably see you around more often than not. I like to get a good work out in before the day starts.”

The 4th of July was slowly approaching, and things were a-brewin’ out in Major’s shed. All the best ingredients and a whole lotta love in there, he was gonna get the whole damn town buzzed. Same procedure as every year. Now he was out at Walmart picking up a few of the finishing touches for it all, shooting off a bright smile as he recognized a Beaumontian, “You excited for the big party?” He evidently was, newly picked-up Uncle Sam hat already in place, “Wonderin’ who’s gonna embarrass themselves this year, who’s your bet?”

       Usually he’d had done more research on the new town, found a better location to purchase gardening supplies. A month in and his usual route of an apartment—preferably above the seventh floor wasn’t an option this time around. At first a mild irritation when he realized the landlord of the quaint home he was renting had no intention of maintaining the foliage, had turned into a slow behind the eyeball scratch. Nothing garnered more attention than being the only brown lawn with dead flowers after all. But here he was, Walmart.