get burned, @kenna.

[LINUS THEODORE HENDRICK]

[atrb=border,0,true] it's seven o' clock on a saturday morning and the sun is up, like it should be. linus, who should be passed out on the tiny couch in his even tinier studio apartment, is up too. he's been up all night, actually, and the bags underneath his eyes are darker than usual. his fingertips are blotched in magentas and deep purples and royal blues and faded yellows. he's been up painting. he's not sure what he's been up painting and he probably won't ever be sure what he was up painting, and when it's finished, he's going to call it something like "the imperial mind of the smallest soldier" or "a collection of early summer thoughts and some cats as well", like he always does. the apartment is a lonely place in the morning. linus is considerate to his neighbors, two elderly women on welfare, and won't play any music until he hears one of them recalling what she'd seen on tbn the other day, which is usually around eleven or so. the walls are thin. the post-it note on the fridge, dated three weeks ago, reads: "buy coffee beans". that's not going to happen. he goes to the bedroom and digs through the dirty laundry for at least five minutes before he finds an urban outfitters shirt that doesn't smell completely awful. post-it note: "do the laundry." gets the keys, locks the door to the apartment. coffee. the diner is only a three minute walk from the apartments and he regulars the place for breakfast. it's not busy. "cup of coffee, please

[/i]." linus leans on the counter and winks at the lady working the cashier. she's in her early sixties and she winks back at him. it's a game they play. he's painted her before. it didn't look like her at all, but he named the painting "the sweet cashier lady that gives out winks and change".
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CREDIT TO JENNERS
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