Seth stumbled down the incline, his knee was getting bad again. He couldn't get it fixed or looked at or even replaced, that wasn't his situation.
The first job he had was too hard on his heart, the second he'd gotten fired from for daydreaming. He moved in with a friend at number 5, moved to another friend at 7, moved from them when he couldn't find a 9th. Each of them he left something he had, something he trusted them to keep, and a few other odds and ends.
The trajectory was obvious, no heart for labor, no brain for droning, no skills or knowledge for trade meant weasel into acting or politics. Both left a bad enough feeling in his gut that he was just willing to take the fall. Parents objected but it was their fault for letting him grow up soft and only having one other kid, in his eyes at least.
He limped across the little road between the building and storm drain canal. Dry enough he might be able to get down into some of the infrastructure to stay warm and dry tonight.
Letting himself mutter he looked for a good place to sled down on a plank. He couldn't help but think on the things he'd left with his trusted friends, hoping they'd carry on with them rather than sell off the mementos. Those things had real sentimental value to him, not that he could go back and check in.
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"No, I'm just a dead man walking" he huffed, pulling out the board he'd saved for this. Setting it on the edge and only thinking for a moment how it was like sledding with a hard landing, he pushed off.
Hitting the slope with a crack and leveling off with a clatter the ill fated sled raced down the slope. Front waxed to keep it pointed down as debris and packaging swept up on either side.
The bang at the bottom sounded more like a thunk followed by a clatter of someone with too many bags and jackets rolling to a stop. Once his head was done spinning he got up and kept walking, keeping the board on his hip.
No it wasn't a good life, or pleasant, but it was incredibly cheep. He had enough for a month of vendor and restaurant food stashed in his pockets. He'd be back up in a week for bodywash and shampoo, his supplies were low and he was struggling to find a good bathhouse.
A skittering caught his ear and focusing back on the world around him he found a dull awareness of being watched. Not the hunted watched, but not out of curiosity, and definitely not Crazy Earl.
He shivered and walked a lil stiffer from those obtrusive memories, not quite feeling safe till he was backed in the back of a dead end tunnel with a burnt out car or two cornering him in.
Earl hated these spaces, even if he didn't respect a boomstick.