#* hendrix

It seemed that beyond the state of the establishment, people in Grand Manan saw a half gutted and burned out building and still assumed happy hour would make it’s shocking return despite it. Waiting on the replacement door to arrive had chewed through most of his day, and now, sat on the curb outside, still sporting ash and soot on his calloused hands, he couldn’t stop people from trying their hand at scoring a cheap beer. “Take a look, please..” His voice was curt, the headache that had yet to leave him from days prior had eaten away at his patience, “The building was literally torched - you think I’ve got a cold one just.. waiting for you in there or something? Beat it.”

“I don’t know what else there is to tell you.” He groaned out, pinching at the bridge of his nose as if it might knock loose some kind of memory that he’d yet to pull free. “I was at the school, with everyone else - the fog and all that other shit, next thing I know I’m picking myself up out of the dirt on the northern coast.” The distance between the two wasn’t questionable, the island wasn’t so big that it couldn’t be done, however, it was everything missing in between that he’d couldn’t figure out. The voices - the presence that seemed to cling to his back, remained unspoken, for now. “Doesn’t matter how many times I go back over it. There’s nothing.”