Clint rubbed at his brow. Unsure of how to go about texting Wade. It had been years since they spoke. Was Clint crazy for doing this? Maybe he should call Wade instead. He felt his heart beat slightly race, his blood pressure rising. He shouldn’t feel unsure of texting his old fling...Should he?

He set his phone down and paced. “Don’t be a baby Clint. It’s just Wade. It’s not like he’s intimidating.” He doesn’t even really know why they stopped talking, it just sort of happened. “It’s just Wade.”

“Just Wade...”

He stopped pacing and looked to his phone. “Just send it you pussy.” he sighed heavily. “It’s just Wade!”

He began to type onto his phone. ’I miss you.’ Clint’s eyes just stared at the unsent text. He felt an anxious pain in his chest. Clint deleted the texted with a frustrated sigh. “Too strong.” he said aloud. Clint plopped himself down into his loveseat, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table that was draped with papers and books. He wouldn’t say his life was a mess, but it certainly wasn’t fully in order after his wife left him. He just needed his best friend at this time. Even if they hadn’t spoken in awhile. He began to type again.

’ So...Long time, no talk.’ Clint looked at the phone, his fingers delayed to press send. When he finally got the courage his thumb pressed send. He stared at the phone for a little bit, feeling a bit of anxiety creep into the back of his brain. He set his phone back onto the coffee table turning it over, he didn’t want to stare at it for too long, if he didn’t get a reply that would kill him.

He lit up a cigarette and took a long drag. Guess old habits never die. Just like the cigarette Wade was certainly a habit that just didn’t die for Clint.

Many people couldn’t handle routine. The mundane, scheduled life isn’t for the weak-willed. Every now and again, the human being needs a break from the doldrums to stimulate their brains, to reconcile that they’re life has some sort of purpose and meaning. Without that, human beings tend to fall into obscurity and complacency. For Logan, it was just another day. 

It was a modest living for the Mutant, hacking down tree’s for some no-name company. It kept him fit, sharp without dulling his senses. He secretly adored the innocence of the outside world where concrete hasn’t been introduced. Logan has lived off of the wild before, it was no stranger to him as a nice cold bottle of beer. But he wasn’t about to farm up tobacco for the sake of his cigar habit. In fact, that was the highlight of his day’s work: a frosty brewski, a cuban and a sizzling steak. Eat like the Wolverine he is but live like the modesty of Man. 

Putting on his favorite leather jacket over his flannel shirt, Logan went through this motion without a second thought. No longer habit, just muscle memory as he shot his arms through their sleeves and straightened out his collar with a firm tug. Yet it was this moment that he caught himself in just...going through the motion of things. He had been working here for the better part of six months, the same ol’ swing, hack and *thump* of the chunks of word hitting the dirt. He learned to trust his instincts whenever they made his stomach flip and feeling that as his routine came to a close, the Canadian knew what that meant. It was time to move on to something else, a different part of the world. 

If I get to 150 I'll do a follow forever!

IICSSRP (Infinity International College of the Seven Seas)

The Bay