* 𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚂𝚃 / 𝙽𝙾𝟷.

monroe tucked his juul back into the pocket of his impractical cargo shorts as he returned from his smoke break, stepping through the main entrance of the bar and glancing around in search of the group he had arrived with. he was out with a few other westmere weekly employees to celebrate another edition of the paper being sent off to the printer. alcohol isn’t his preferred kind of buzz, so he’s still on his first drink of the evening ( yes, he was the only one at his table to get carded ) while the others were tipping back their second, third, and even fourth refills when he slipped out to smoke. most of his coworkers are older guys who have been writing for the paper since before monroe was born — hell, some of them since before monroe’s parents were born. they’re also rowdy drunks. monroe grimaced when he heard familiar raucous laughter and spotted a bristling figure at their table. he tried to reach around the stranger and retrieve his drink without being noticed, to no avail. “well, dude, you’re kinda in my way.” he gestured to his glass of beer, still standing on the table and near - impossible for him to reach with the stranger blocking his path. monroe folded his arms and gave him a long, assessing look. “what are you picking a fight with a bunch of eighty - year - olds for anyway ? ” 

after sam had set down the pizza box, monroe flipped open the lid and picked up a slice. "thanks for the chow,” he murmured in between bites, raising the slice in his hand like a glass of champagne. “i would’ve been eating vegan - friendly popcorn for dinner if you hadn’t brought this.” not that vegan - friendly popcorn sounded like an unsavory meal to him, but it would’ve been nowhere near as filling as the pizza, he was certain. especially not after a few hits from the joint sam had brought along. he tossed his half - eaten slice back into the box and wiped his greasy hands on the front of his shorts, then took the joint with a small hum of gratitude and placed it between his lips. “it’s one thing to fool around a little during a movie, but if you’re gonna go any further then you’ve gotta at least move to a bathroom stall or the backseat of your car,” he commented.

he tends to work in sporadic spells rather than on the sort of tight schedule that most journalists are accustomed to. if the newspaper was a larger operation that was churning out a new edition every day, then monroe is sure that he would’ve been fired ten missed deadlines ago. “i missed out on using this excuse back then because i didn’t have a cat when i was in middle school,” he explained, “and everyone knows that the cat ate my homework excuse is acceptable either right up until middle school or right up until an individual no longer has a cat. it’s like a savings bond.” he sounded very sure of himself for someone who had no idea what he was talking about. ( he doesn’t know what a savings bond is. ) monroe shuffled through the papers on his desk again until he located his paltry grocery list. “let’s see ... ” he cleared his throat. “ ... vegan - friendly popcorn and w ... ” monroe’s gaze flickered up to lorraine. his boss. “ ... wheat. i bake bread.” he tossed the paper back onto his desk and hastily covered it with the bill from tonic twist. “i think we should use my drawing.” he reached for his sketch of the infamous jersey devil again and held it up with a proud smile. “look at how cute his ears are.”

MONROE → 𝚜𝚎𝚋 ( 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚢 𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 ) : i just don’t get how you can /not/ believe in astrology, dude. there’s so much evidence for it. it just makes sense that the day you were born has a say in who you are and that it means you’re destined to have the exact same personality as everyone else who was born at the same time of year as you were for all eternity. your skepticism is /such a downer/ but i can’t really say it’s surprising 🙄

MONROE  →   𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚢 ( 🐢 ) : nah MONROE  →   𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚢 ( 🐢 ) : wait are you outside ?

MONROE  → 𝚌 ( 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝 ) : can we talk ?

MONROE → 𝚣 ( 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚝 ) : okay so i know you explicitly told me to stop asking the other customers if they think the loveland frog could beat the loch ness monster in an undersea battle of might and i didn’t listen and kept doing it so you threw me out, but what if, just this one time, you /didn’t/ throw me out ? just something for you to think about

“stephen king.”

“there’s this theory that even though sasquatches are real, the reason no one’s ever recovered a skeleton is because they’re interdimensional beings and their physical form teleports back to their home dimension when their life force starts to fade. it’s one of my favorites just because of how batshit it is. like, points for creativity but the reason no one’s ever recovered a sasquatch skeleton is because they’re fuckin’ immortal. my least favorite conspiracy theory is zodiac signs. i reject the idea that the day i was born gets any say in who i am, or that i’m destined to have the exact same personality as everyone else who was born at the same time of year as i was for all eternity. it’s bullshit.”

“i never get junk mail.”

since when do ferocious thunderstorms befall connecticut of all places ? monroe cursed and flung his hands onto the steering wheel as he felt the van begin to veer off of the slick asphalt, scrambling to regain control of the lumbering old vehicle. he sat up and tried to peer through the windshield to no avail. he couldn’t see a fucking thing as rain poured from the dark clouds above and pummeled the glass. monroe didn’t think he should keep driving, but worried that if he tried to pull over then he would crash into an unseen guardrail or catapult right into the fucking lake. “dude, i’ve gotta smoke,” he told byron, reaching over his best friend to pop open the glove compartment. monroe didn’t even realize that he had removed his gaze from the road until he felt the van slipping and veering again. he scrabbled for the steering wheel, but it was too late. monroe cursed in a panicked shout as he felt the tires slip off of the smooth, wet asphalt and roll onto far more uneven terrain. not water, he realized, a flicker of relief lingering until he felt the nose of the van dip and solid ground slipping out from beneath the front tires. monroe gripped the steering wheel and grit his teeth, but the van stopped before he could attempt to regain control. it had rolled into a dip in what he assumed to be dirt or grass. monroe yelped in surprise as the sudden stop propelled him forward and he smacked his head on the steering wheel. “okay, now i’ve really gotta smoke.” he turned his head, resting his cheek on the steering wheel as he glanced over at byron. “dude, you good ? ” / @conelly​

monroe winced as lorraine held up the page. there was indeed a glaring blank space where his article was supposed to go. ( the article he didn’t write. ) “tillie was retaliating,” he offered, “i bought him store brand cat food when i know that fancy feast is his favorite. it was my fault, really.” he offered a rueful shrug as part of his last - ditch effort to sell her the excuse, but when his boss just requested something from him, monroe deflated. “uh ... ” he sighed, gaze sweeping over the mess of papers on his desk. “ ... alright, let’s see what i’ve got.” nothing, he already knew. “grocery list ... ” all he had written down was weed and vegan - friendly popcorn. “ ... bill from tonic twist ‘cause i got super fucking wasted last weekend ... oh, how ‘bout this picture i drew of the jersey devil ? ” he flipped the paper around, showing it to her with a triumphant grin.