#miunsi

⭒ ° . ♡ ― honesty was a virtue, right ? so angela could be honest in admitting that she was avoiding biking home like the goddamn plague. it wasn’t that her family was bad -- far from it, they were loving in their own way. it was just impossible to get any WORK done under the family household circumstances. and unlike her other senior friends, her parents had had nothing to offer in the way of apartment costs or gas money, insisting instead that she angle herself towards a career when her degree was finally finished and bike around campus to cut costs in the mean time. her legs ? looking great these days. her will to bike home carrying a decade-old transistor radio ( and all the bits and bobs she’d pulled out of it ), just to put it back together again in the cold, dimly-lit garage surrounded by cobwebs and the ambiance of her brother’s THIRD loop of Yes’s Fragile that evening ? non-existent. she could get down to roundabout the next time she had nine minutes to spare. 

TODAY, she was so frustratingly, achingly close to finishing her pet project Emdeko that if she had to focus on absolutely anything else before it was done she might actually combust. and actually, on second thought, it was possible the radio was university property anyways. COULD she even leave with it ?

the thing wasn’t broken, per se. or at least, it hadn’t been until she’d started deconstructing it. nothing she couldn’t fix, but she’d noticed nothing appeared to be out of place on the inside. it just wasn’t picking up the local stations -- or any station really. no matter which way she’d messed around with it, it picked up silence and little more. she knew they weren’t in a dead zone, because the other radio she’d placed beside it for her tests had worked just fine. so it had to be a mechanical issue, didn’t it ? and screwdriver deep in it’s bowels, she swore she’d heard the raucous, fuzzy snow of a too - distant channel just a couple hours earlier. all ange had to do was chase it down again. wiggle some pieces and whisper sweetly to the little thing until it hummed back to life with the exact right combination of care, even if it ate up her evening.

maybe she was lucky, then, that only about an hour after she’d decided to take the hit of coming home late and worrying her mother did she finally convince the radio to make another noise. again, it was fuzzy. the sounds of a lifetime entirely out of context and well beyond it’s signal range. but it was SOMETHING.