(no subject)

[tarrytown]

... all right.

[ Cagey at the podium, but only a little (addressing the public at large, while far from the most intimidating thing, is still not really a thing she does); those two words encompass her resignation to her surroundings and all the things in them. ]

You could, uh. Talk to me about family problems?

[ That frown of hers is on the forbidding side. ]

Whatever yours were, if you had 'em. What you did, if anything. How it worked out. I'd like to hear it.

Comments

[comewither]

Uh, it didn't. But I suppose that's common.

[tarrytown]

I can see you're not gonna start writing for Hallmark anytime soon.

[comewither]

Shit, I wouldn't even get through the door before they chased me out with pitchforks.

[tarrytown]

I'm not sure I'm allowed to even buy a card.

[comewither]

I suspect if I did it would just burst into flames on principle.

[tarrytown]

So what we're both saying here is that we got nothing for this question.

[comewither]

Not a damn thing, sorry. My problems don't even want me calling home anymore, so it's a mute point.

[tarrytown]

I guess that is "resolved," then.

[comewither]

Yeah. Not the inspirational message you were looking for, huh?

[tarrytown]

I was kind of hoping for ... I don't know. Not chicken soup for the soul, but maybe step by step, practical instructions on killing the chicken.

— There's probably a better analogy for that. [ But who has time to think their analogies through! ]

[comewither]

I could give you a step by step on how... not to kill the chicken? It really boils down to 'don't let people know you're crazy, don't rack up a a record longer than your arm, and stop staring at shit other people can't see' but that... should be easy to avoid. For most people.

[tarrytown]

[ She makes a noncommittal sound. ]

Sounds like decent life advice.

[ About thirteen years too late. ]

[comewither]

[they're in the same boat.]

I should write a book. "Advice From a Fuck-Up."