i did nothing yesterday, like didn't even touch a single draft >,> but now my brain is surging with so many ideas nfodcn ion even fuckin know where to start ε-(≖д≖﹆)

[ It's lancing, hot-knife up his spine and he wonders how he  ended up here -- doesn't remember anything before coming  to — doesn’t remember anything before coming to. And then — well, he’s lost track of everything that’s been done since then, but his nerves feel frayed, in a very literal sense. Everything’s a haze, and it’s getting increasingly hard to breathe — he’s given up on getting out. ]

"--Where have you been?"

              "Are you trying to monitor me?"

Jiae yawned as she grabbed her thin large sketch pad, pencil case filled with various drawing utensils, easel and her small stool, heading to her favorite park. There were vendors that always sold things there and nobody, not even the cops, cared about her doing caricatures/portraits of bystanders who requested them. Heck, a few cops even asked to have caricatures of themselves done when the job was slow. She wore her Arctic Monkeys bad tee, cut off jeans and her black Vans, her hair kept tame under a white beanie, her lip right a neon green, eyebrow barbell it's usual black. Jiae chose a nice place between a hot dog stand and a slushie stand, placing her sketch pad on the easel, the inside of the top flap perched on the back of the easel reading 'CARICATURES/PORTRAITS! $2 EACH'. Jiae sat back and listened to Beenzino, awaiting her first customer. She got a little boy holding two crumpled dollars in exchange for the caricature, asking him to place it in her beanie, giving a soft smile when he laughed and obliged. Jiae got to work, the boy sitting deathly still in front of her. She worked hard on making it funny, eye smiling when he sometimes twitched, knowing he wanted a peek. "Don't worry, almost done."

Jiae sat up, tucking her hair behind her ears as she washed the jagged and crooked wound, cleaning it with antiseptic and bandaging it. She washed her face and threw on a long sleeve Pigalle sweatshirt, black and grey leather sweatpants and her trusty Converse, heading out the front door, unable to even look at any of her neighboring doors, ashamed. Jiae walked to her nearest bar, card and wallet in hand. She sat at the bar, slumping in her chair as she waited for a bartender to serve her regular to her. She never had to ask, she only came there when she wanted to get drunk and they always knew how to deliver.

Jiae wanted to go clubbing tonight, so she finished up quite fast, feeding Chrys what she could. She went into her room, putting on a ‘Been Trill’ sweater, snug black jeans that hugged her tightly and white Vans, keeping her hair tied. She put in a black eyebrow ring, and white lip ring, shoving her charged phone in her back pocket as she left the spacious apartment. Jiae made it to the underground club, smiling as a few staff members and regulars greeted her. She watched the current duo battle one another while she ordered a glass of rum on the rocks, sitting on a stool. She sat and observed the two, one looking clearly forced and trying to think of the next cunning lines while the other was already spitting. Such thick competition. She couldn’t wait to get up there and spit; she hadn’t done it in so long.