SOMETIMES - - - OFTEN, REALLY - - - CIRCE THINKS SHE SHOULD JUST GET OUT OF HAWKINS, INDIANA AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE. it would be selfish. it would be putting some reckless, terrible sense of self-importance over the aid she can offer, here. it would be running from something that will still linger in the back of her mind, that will still keep her up with the screaming and the writhing and the terror even if she leaves, but - distance can make it easier. DISTANCE WOULD NOT MAKE THIS EASIER. circe knows that. but sometimes ... sometimes itâs tempting. sharing a building with james gallowes is one of those times.
   itâs not his fault. itâs almost never the given persons FAULT, thereâs no use placing blame for a life being ... being eventful? being terrifying? being continual and lasting and always, always having something happening, something somewhere. somewhen. she tries to ignore the writhing at the center of the mall they stand in, the people moving under their feet in secret, the scent of ash and decay and burning that lingers in the too-near future. now is just the rattle of security grates being slid down, the jingle of keys, the weary joints of people who have been working too long and dealing with too many annoying customers. STILL. fingers curl around the paper cup of soda she has been carting around half the day and she lingers, waiting, feeling like a total creep for waiting. people think sheâs WEIRD, here, but thatâs hawkins, and sheâs a newcomer who lives in a tiny apartment downtown and stares at people, so. can she really blame them too terribly?
   âhey, sorry,â itâs almost time for the mall to CLOSE, but that felt like the best time to approach. no one around to EAVESDROP - - - no shortage of CURIOUS EYES AND EARS here, everywhere in hawkins, waiting for something to gossip about, âyou - youâre, uhm ... you work here.â itâs too much of a statement, so she tacks on a âright?â to feel a little less creepy.
