Jun 1, 2025
@drjgriffin
"Thought I smelt chip oil."
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@drjgriffin
"Thought I smelt chip oil."
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@drjgriffin
the boy loiters within the dinge-and-gray alleyway. (small hands tug into coat sleeves. like he could will warmth to his chilled, aching bones.) copper eyes flick, sparingly, toward bandaged man. “ you sleepin’ here or you just passin’ through? ” his drawl was a paper airplane, a marble toss.
☎️ 𝙶𝙷𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙱𝚄𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂, 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃? || [ text ] : Wouldn’t you rather have this conversation in person? || @drjgriffin
📲 🖂 [DR. GRIFFIN]: Ideally, yes. Virtual communications don't come without their limitations.
📲 🖂 [DR. GRIFFIN]: However, downtime is rare right now. I'm a busy man, and I imagine you are, too.
📲 🖂 [DR. GRIFFIN]: That being said, we can schedule an in-person meeting, if that's better for you?
THEY'RE CHEWING ON the inside of their cheek, debating letting out the question that's been bouncing around their skull. surely @drjgriffin has had worse first meetings, right? hannah wouldn't be the most awful just because they couldn't seem to shut the fuck up! “ so, like, i don't wanna be rude or nothin', but what's with the bandages? not that it ain't giving hospital chic, totally is! i'm diggin' the cunty mummy look, i'm just curious. fashion statement or... what? ” / sc.
@drjgriffin
Intervening at the bar order standoff: “Two lemon drops.” It’s not what Jack was trying to order, but it’s what he’s getting.
“Do you get carded a lot?”
“Whaddaya show ‘em?”
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@drjgriffin sent: "The invitation said free champagne!"
PROMPTS. accepting
Frowning, Lourdes read the glossy, embossed piece of card stock over again. "I hadn't noticed. It isn't a very compelling reason to go, still." Not for him, for obvious reasons.
"I doubt if it's real champagne. Sparkling wine, more likely. I could get you champagne, if you'd like. Real champagne—and we'd have no need to leave and see all of those horrible, filthy people." He doesn't really know who all would actually be present at the event; he hardly knows the host, but that only makes the thought of attending all the worse.
⸻ "hear me out—instead of a sensory deprivation chamber, what about a sensory overload chamber?"
✧ ⸻ ⊱ @drjgriffin.
"Jesus Christ." Boot slams brake pedal. Ear-splitting screech —vicious force driving momentum hurling him to a stop, smell of burnt rubber and the sweat beading on his brow filling his nostrils. By the Grace of God and the worthy brakes of his '83 Datsun, he narrowly avoids running down the crazy bastard running around in the middle of the goddamn highway. In the middle of the goddamn night.
He could jump out of his car now. He's mad enough to, sure —whites of his eyes burning hot and monster heart pounding in his chest. He could, but he doesn't. He does slam on his horn, though. Loudly. And for several uninterrupted seconds.
@drjgriffin gets a thing!