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oom: upstairs, room 25
He's sitting upstairs, in his room, after having cleaned it.
A few days ago, he met a young lady by the name of Miss Katherine Barlow. A fellow teacher, from Green Lake, Texas. She hadn't been back since he showed her off to the door after a tour of the library and the grounds, but he knew the door could take time...
What do you think you're doing, Doc?
You're married. Remember?
Doc looks up at the dresser, at the two paper cranes -- one dark brown, one a blushing pink -- and he stands up, pushing the thoughts out of his mind. He moves instead to the stack of books he needs to return back to the library and gathers them up, and takes the time to walk down the hall and leave them on the desk in a tidy stack before he returns to his room.
His clothes are folded neatly and he places the ones he leaves at Milliways in the dresser, then reaches for his pack and empties it out on his desk. The contents give him a bit of a distraction, for a few hours:
- He brushes the dust off the leather, and mends a small tear with a patch he runs down to the bar to fetch.
- He fills the flask with rum and wraps it up again, tucks it back in the pocket.
- He lines all the wayward bullets up on the desk and counts them, restocks his belt to fill it and then puts the rest back in the case where they belong.
- He spends awhile rolling another dozen cigarettes.
- He flips through the journal full of his own poetry and finds one that would be suitable for reading to Miss Barlow the next time she's in, and makes a mental note of it.
- He throws away the tattered copy of last week's Harper's that he was only using as firestarter.
When he's done with that, and he's repacked the bag with everything he would want if he was to go back to New Mexico that evening, he resumes practice of juggling. This time, with fabric cubes filled with plastic or beads. He's been practicing every night and he's gotten good enough to use three at once. Sure, he misses a catch here and there but it's not the juggling he's trying to learn.
Fast hands or you're gonna end up dead.
He'll go down to the bar later, for dinner and to look for someone. Right now, he's content to stay upstairs (and brood a little) and keep practicing.
Her children had been laughing and singing.
A few days ago, he met a young lady by the name of Miss Katherine Barlow. A fellow teacher, from Green Lake, Texas. She hadn't been back since he showed her off to the door after a tour of the library and the grounds, but he knew the door could take time...
What do you think you're doing, Doc?
You're married. Remember?
Doc looks up at the dresser, at the two paper cranes -- one dark brown, one a blushing pink -- and he stands up, pushing the thoughts out of his mind. He moves instead to the stack of books he needs to return back to the library and gathers them up, and takes the time to walk down the hall and leave them on the desk in a tidy stack before he returns to his room.
His clothes are folded neatly and he places the ones he leaves at Milliways in the dresser, then reaches for his pack and empties it out on his desk. The contents give him a bit of a distraction, for a few hours:
- He brushes the dust off the leather, and mends a small tear with a patch he runs down to the bar to fetch.
- He fills the flask with rum and wraps it up again, tucks it back in the pocket.
- He lines all the wayward bullets up on the desk and counts them, restocks his belt to fill it and then puts the rest back in the case where they belong.
- He spends awhile rolling another dozen cigarettes.
- He flips through the journal full of his own poetry and finds one that would be suitable for reading to Miss Barlow the next time she's in, and makes a mental note of it.
- He throws away the tattered copy of last week's Harper's that he was only using as firestarter.
When he's done with that, and he's repacked the bag with everything he would want if he was to go back to New Mexico that evening, he resumes practice of juggling. This time, with fabric cubes filled with plastic or beads. He's been practicing every night and he's gotten good enough to use three at once. Sure, he misses a catch here and there but it's not the juggling he's trying to learn.
Fast hands or you're gonna end up dead.
He'll go down to the bar later, for dinner and to look for someone. Right now, he's content to stay upstairs (and brood a little) and keep practicing.
Her children had been laughing and singing.
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