IF YOU WERE GIVEN A CHOICE ; death — or, DEATH. which would you choose? the night over london used to be sanctuary, but NEW YORK seems to always make him restless. tonight — well, he can feel SOMETHING slouching from the inky blackness toward his own occasionally hunched form. sleep was once a familiar friend he’s welcomed to shield himself from the harsh overrated light of the mornings, but he is choosing to forsake it. maybe he’s going mad, maybe this upside down lifestyle of his is taking its toll. humans weren’t made to be nocturnal anyway. here’s the thing lads, when it’s a choice between a quick death, a slow death and madness. never pick the last option. and for once he knows SANITY won’t be found in sleep — alcohol’s always kept him up better than coffee.
❝ before you state the obvious and tell me you’re closing, ❞ a finger is held aloft as if he’s about to present something particularly illuminating — everything’s been wiped down and moved, it doesn’t take a GENIUS to be able to tell. ❝ i have a few hundreds i don’t need. and i’ll do all the work hmm ? pour my own drink, wash the glass after. even inventory. pr-etty good deal if i say so m’self. ❞ the THICK sunken sallow rings around his eyes prove very little of how determined he really is. //. @bacchantboy
