Post by GUY "PSYCHE" ANANKE on Feb 7, 2012 3:26:45 GMT -5
Guy could feel every bit of dirt and disease in the air crawling on him. He hated having to commute to the agency or the photo shoot. It meat going outside…near people. That was horrible. Terrible. That was putting his life at risk and for what? A job? Pshaw, he didn’t really need a job. Right? Right. He could live off of his savings, theoretically. How much did one person need to survive in today’s world? Not much. How much did one person need to survive in New York? A hell of a lot more than Guy had saved up.
With a sigh, he bowed his head and kept walking. He didn’t do cars; he didn’t drive and taxi drivers in New York were atrocious. Subways were a cesspool of human filth and bikes were just stupid. That left Guy with walking to and from every photo shoot no matter how far away it was. It took forever and it was absolutely disgusting, but it was safe. He could always disinfect later. Guy would just have to be careful and not clean too hard like last time. He had scrubbed right through his skin, not noticing until the blood was running down the drain and he had go to the hospital for it to be fixed up.
That had been unpleasant to say the least.
Guy glanced down at his watch: he had twenty minutes before the shoot and given his current walking speed and traffic, he would be there in thirteen. Feeling good about his pace, Guy kept going.
Exactly twelve minutes later, he got a text informing him that the shoot had been cancelled. Pausing in the middle of the sidewalk to gape angrily at the phone, Guy had to mentally rework everything. Now his whole schedule was thrown off! Guy was knocked out of his flustered mental replanning when someone (who he didn’t know, by the way. God’s know what they had on their coat) bumped into him, sending him stumbling sideways. Trying hard to panic in the middle of the crowd, Guy wiped at his shoulder frantically, eyes darting around for a place for him to go into and to clean up.
The closest and best option happened to be the library. That was terrible. Shaking, feeling sick to his stomach, Guy knew he didn’t have any other choice. He brought along his impromptu cleaning kit in his satchel and it was going to have to do the job until he could get home and get clean. With a violent shake, Guy dug through his coat pocket for the gloves he kept there and tugged them on so he could get into the library without further contaminating himself. Inside, he began to walk to the second floor, the one he knew to be filled with various alcoves. He would have to clean in one of those because a public restroom was clearly not an option.
Clutching the satchel like it was a lifeline, Guy hurried through the various doors and tables, finding a nice, small corner where he’d be safe enough for thirty or so minutes while he cleaned up. Stepping into the small area, he turned to the one person in the room. His fingers were tapping harshly against his thigh and he kept shaking, trying not to freak out.
“Please leave this room now.” He all but snapped, setting the satchel down on the table and flipping it open, assuming the person in the room would just do what he said.
With a sigh, he bowed his head and kept walking. He didn’t do cars; he didn’t drive and taxi drivers in New York were atrocious. Subways were a cesspool of human filth and bikes were just stupid. That left Guy with walking to and from every photo shoot no matter how far away it was. It took forever and it was absolutely disgusting, but it was safe. He could always disinfect later. Guy would just have to be careful and not clean too hard like last time. He had scrubbed right through his skin, not noticing until the blood was running down the drain and he had go to the hospital for it to be fixed up.
That had been unpleasant to say the least.
Guy glanced down at his watch: he had twenty minutes before the shoot and given his current walking speed and traffic, he would be there in thirteen. Feeling good about his pace, Guy kept going.
Exactly twelve minutes later, he got a text informing him that the shoot had been cancelled. Pausing in the middle of the sidewalk to gape angrily at the phone, Guy had to mentally rework everything. Now his whole schedule was thrown off! Guy was knocked out of his flustered mental replanning when someone (who he didn’t know, by the way. God’s know what they had on their coat) bumped into him, sending him stumbling sideways. Trying hard to panic in the middle of the crowd, Guy wiped at his shoulder frantically, eyes darting around for a place for him to go into and to clean up.
The closest and best option happened to be the library. That was terrible. Shaking, feeling sick to his stomach, Guy knew he didn’t have any other choice. He brought along his impromptu cleaning kit in his satchel and it was going to have to do the job until he could get home and get clean. With a violent shake, Guy dug through his coat pocket for the gloves he kept there and tugged them on so he could get into the library without further contaminating himself. Inside, he began to walk to the second floor, the one he knew to be filled with various alcoves. He would have to clean in one of those because a public restroom was clearly not an option.
Clutching the satchel like it was a lifeline, Guy hurried through the various doors and tables, finding a nice, small corner where he’d be safe enough for thirty or so minutes while he cleaned up. Stepping into the small area, he turned to the one person in the room. His fingers were tapping harshly against his thigh and he kept shaking, trying not to freak out.
“Please leave this room now.” He all but snapped, setting the satchel down on the table and flipping it open, assuming the person in the room would just do what he said.
