#undrgrndstart

today, he is on a special streak of idiocy, fueled by two strawberry milkshakes and a joint he’d hastily smoked in the back alley. rosie’s is especially dead — it’s usually pretty barren after the lunch rush, but today the diner is inhabited only by their regular, gary (who literally never leaves his sad, sad perch at the counter), and a few assorted stragglers who clearly just want him to have more dishes to deal with when he gets back to work. fucking cruel. 

however, the most essential factor here is that rosie is out running an errand. and when the rosie is away, the idiot comes out to play. 

so of course, as anyone logically would, clark deems this the perfect time to hop up on the empty stage tucked in the back corner, and add another number to what he has lovingly dubbed the rat spectacular. and this is unarguably his finest show to date: a completely acapella croon of “what’s new pussycat,” delivered to (a now sleeping) gary, and the scattered group of patrons who either look bewildered or actively upset. he gives it his all, of course — off-tune vocals, intricate and sensual dance moves, and the unhinged energy of a man who only got four hours of sleep and is running purely on sugar and weed.  

after he finishes his performance, he dips into a hearty bow, before stepping off stage to greet his throes of admirers (that being, the singular person who is closest to the stage). 

“y’know, i think i got a future in show biz,” he says, sporting an especially shitty grin and a face slightly dampened by the extreme fervor of his dance moves. “never even took a dance class, if you can believe it. i know my moves are top tier shit.” 

this time around, he’s found a bright blue sequined blazer and has already tried it on, indulging in a series of dumbass poses in front of the mirror. with the mixture of his sleep deprivation, weed intake, and just all-around good mood, he’s absolutely cracking himself up. “please let me know if you see any pants that are supposed to go with this,” he says. “or, like, shoes. or a hat... i feel like i’ve found my new trademark. like, makes you wonder why sequins ever went out of style.”

the  words   JESSIE'S GIRL - RICK SPRINGFIELD /  $8   now  graced  the  new  cover  of  the  small  45  as  xan  sat  and  pondered  what  images  to  add  alongside  the  lettering . the  bell  signaling  a  new  customer  pulled  him  out  of  his  deep  thoughts .. making  him  sit  up  and  accidentally  drop  the  pen  on  the  ground .  ❛  hey  ,  welcome  to  echo .. if  you’re  lookin’  for  ernie , he’s  not  in  right  now .  ❜

“I’ll pay for your ticket and everything. I’ll even book you your own room at, like.. I don’t know, the Hilton or something. Whatever. Don’t make me pull the birthday card.”