#nycblackliststarter

‘Be back. Bad habit time,’ he sign, watching the other man roll his eyes and nod. Archie leaves his drink on the pathetically small table and slips out without the comedian on stage catching wind. It’s brisk out tonight and almost soothing really given the headache of the past few days. Tapping his cigarette against the heel of his palm thoughtfully, he’s lighting the cigarette hanging between his lips and tipping his head back against the brick with a sigh.

The way in which Suzie was capable of procrastinating was seriously genius at this point in her life. The fact that she’d managed to get as far in her career as she had with the amount of procrastination she took part in truly surprised her and her agent but here she was, doing just that in a coffee shop when she should be putting the finishing touches on some new pieces that would be displaying at the art show she would be holding in just 5 weeks. Her phone buzzed for the 4th time now, her agents name sprawled across the screen. She watched it buzz and buzz until finally, it went to voicemail. 

She went back to sketching in her sketchbook, drawing any passerby who decided to walk in front of her that day. It helped her when she was experiencing art block as bad as she was. That and doing other creative things. 

As she looked up to find a new subject to sketch, she moved forward in her chair and just like that, elbowed her iced oat milk latte on the floor. She sighed, shaking her head and grabbing napkins to try and sop it up. “Goddammit.” Unfortunately for her, most of it ended up on her lap, the cold icy liquid soaking through her pants.

Today was one of the rare days where it felt as though she were back by herself. Alone. Back to lazy Sundays and dead silence and trying to find ways to kill the time.

It was wildly reckless and probably stupid but Betrice was nothing if not an addict. Today it happened to be the dull rush of adrenaline setting up a hammock in the middle of the park. Because it was better than the alternative of going back to an empty apartment and feeling the aching itching feeling of concern crawl up. With the sun hanging high above filtering through the trees, Betrice might even say the moment was perfect. She might if only it weren’t for the person standing close enough she could spot them in the corner of her half-closed eyes. Sighing, Betrice tilts her head to give them a slow once over.

leaning against the wall of his apartment building, his hands were frozen as he fumbles in the pockets for his smokes, ocean eyes flickering about the sidewalk. he liked to people watch, he couldn’t help it. especially at night, when everyone seemed ten times more interesting.

it was only after he’d gotten the stick clenched between his lips, that he realized his fingers were grabbing at air where his lighter should’ve been. dammit, he must’ve left it inside. he sighs, glances back at his building, where he would have to climb the steps, creep inside without waking the kiddos, retrieve the lighter, sneak back out without waking them, come all the way back outside…

the very thought exhausted him.

instead, he waits until a friendly face on the sidewalk seems approachable, and clears his throat, “Sorry, got a light? I think I left mine inside.”

So far so good.

The pencil between her teeth shifted as she erased something in her journal. An idea had struck her in the middle of her walk through the park and she absolutely had to jot it down before she forgot. Ohh -- and she just got a new piece from the thrift shop down the street that would work wonderfully with the dress pattern she had in mind. 

Maisy replaced the pencil with her pink eraser, eyes burrowing in concentration. The woman didn’t bother looking were she was going as she drew and next thing she knew her journal was on the ground and she was steadying herself on the person in front of her.       “Oh my goodness, I am - I am so sorry. Are you okay?”

No, he locks eyes now: this conversation isn’t to himself. Episode one: Jason Reese seeks sincere advice. ‘Or I saw this mom online who paid a guy eighty-five bucks to come to her son’s Christmas party dressed as the Grinch and had the balls to complain when he smushed a cupcake in the ten year old’s face, like she didn’t hire a freelancer to attack her kid. I could hire that guy to ruin Christmas morning. Cheaper than getting a crap load of gifts...or I could become a Grinch freelancer at eighty-five bucks a pop. I don’t know, I don’t know. Does any of this sound like an overreaction to Christmas? I genuinely can’t tell.’

Walking through the mall slowly, taking in the decorations and lighting and displays, he stopped to pause at the majestic tree set up in the center court of the mall and the grand display. Weaving in and around it was the long line of kids waiting to get a few moments with Santa Claus. Peter’s enjoyment of the season made him a little late to realize that somebody had approached him at first, until he was stirred out of his reverie by their voice.