Ah, indeed. There was also once a trio of great minds who urged teenagers to fight for their right to party, as well. A cause worth digging one's heels in for, to be sure.
Ahaha, the thought of the gift, oh, she's cute. Susan will keep that one in her pocket all the way home to giggle about, because it really is adorable. She's heard people say that but there's not a single person on planet earth who believes it, surely. That statement has never made sense and will never made sense.
Once home, she'll pick her way through Salome's room and pack her bags for her--clothes, make-up, towels, pillowcases (since you never do know what revolting things are on hotel pillows), some books, various little travel accoutrements--and call her father to come and pick it all up. And he'll arrive, and find himself trapped, pestered by Susan's urgent need to know why he wants Salome an extra day, and fine, if he really wants her, then he can earn it, and he'll tell her to go fuck herself and spend the day wrapping up the rest of his errands.
That's the big pain in the ass about being a dealer, is keeping in touch with your customers to let them know you're going out of town, and then hearing them whine. It's good if you want them to spend a lot of money at once, though. He really does need to find a better business, though. Right now he's thinking tattoo artist--he doesn't have any of his own, but it's interesting to him philosophically to use living flesh as a canvas. Besides, lots of people seem to be turning it into legitimate artwork, so why can't he?
But the whole day, no matter how busy and annoyed he is, he finds himself glancing to the clock with increasing anticipation. The past few days without Salome have been lovely, of course, same as always, and it's given him time to adjust to the strange new reality of his situation, which seemed all the more glaringly apparent to him in her absence. But now, on the verge of seeing her again, he's edgy with delight at the idea of her, and it makes the time grind miserably slowly even when he visits Delilah at lunch to grab a bite with her and tell her good-bye until his own birthday.
Then, finally around two, he makes sure the car is packed--surfboard in the backseat, suitcases in the trunk, books stacked up in case her majesty deigns to lower her smartphone and read during the trip something instead--and prepares to speak with the school school, practicing only his most solemn expression. He realizes before he leaves that he should make himself cry, but that seems impossible, so instead he smokes a joint out back where the smell won't stick to his clothes for that genuine red-eye effect, and makes to pick her up an hour and a half early and speak to the sweet old ladies in the administrative office, who always seem so pleased to see Mister Vasko on the rare occasions he drops by for whatever reason, but know today that something must be amiss.
"I'm afraid it's Salome's grandmother," he tells them solemnly, his expression tight. "She's--ah, she's--" And his lips tense further, and they touch his hand and coo understandingly, oh, poor man, he's just lost his mother, but even so he bravely fights on, clearing his throat as he continues hamming it up for them. "I'm afraid that Salome is going to have to miss some school over the next week, and we need to leave as soon as possible to make it on time to, ah-- attend to the arrangements."
Oh, of course, of course, they'll have her in the office to check out of school straightaway, and don't worry about her missing a couple of days, she's a good girl, she'll make it up. And while Mister Vasko offers a brave smile and a grim, "Thank you," the women discern which class Salome is in, and a runner goes to her class with a note that she's to come to the office immediately and bring her things with her.
Damn, Salome, called to the principal's office today of all days? Some fucking birthday, shit.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-08-11 03:35 am (UTC)Ahaha, the thought of the gift, oh, she's cute. Susan will keep that one in her pocket all the way home to giggle about, because it really is adorable. She's heard people say that but there's not a single person on planet earth who believes it, surely. That statement has never made sense and will never made sense.
Once home, she'll pick her way through Salome's room and pack her bags for her--clothes, make-up, towels, pillowcases (since you never do know what revolting things are on hotel pillows), some books, various little travel accoutrements--and call her father to come and pick it all up. And he'll arrive, and find himself trapped, pestered by Susan's urgent need to know why he wants Salome an extra day, and fine, if he really wants her, then he can earn it, and he'll tell her to go fuck herself and spend the day wrapping up the rest of his errands.
That's the big pain in the ass about being a dealer, is keeping in touch with your customers to let them know you're going out of town, and then hearing them whine. It's good if you want them to spend a lot of money at once, though. He really does need to find a better business, though. Right now he's thinking tattoo artist--he doesn't have any of his own, but it's interesting to him philosophically to use living flesh as a canvas. Besides, lots of people seem to be turning it into legitimate artwork, so why can't he?
But the whole day, no matter how busy and annoyed he is, he finds himself glancing to the clock with increasing anticipation. The past few days without Salome have been lovely, of course, same as always, and it's given him time to adjust to the strange new reality of his situation, which seemed all the more glaringly apparent to him in her absence. But now, on the verge of seeing her again, he's edgy with delight at the idea of her, and it makes the time grind miserably slowly even when he visits Delilah at lunch to grab a bite with her and tell her good-bye until his own birthday.
Then, finally around two, he makes sure the car is packed--surfboard in the backseat, suitcases in the trunk, books stacked up in case her majesty deigns to lower her smartphone and read during the trip something instead--and prepares to speak with the school school, practicing only his most solemn expression. He realizes before he leaves that he should make himself cry, but that seems impossible, so instead he smokes a joint out back where the smell won't stick to his clothes for that genuine red-eye effect, and makes to pick her up an hour and a half early and speak to the sweet old ladies in the administrative office, who always seem so pleased to see Mister Vasko on the rare occasions he drops by for whatever reason, but know today that something must be amiss.
"I'm afraid it's Salome's grandmother," he tells them solemnly, his expression tight. "She's--ah, she's--" And his lips tense further, and they touch his hand and coo understandingly, oh, poor man, he's just lost his mother, but even so he bravely fights on, clearing his throat as he continues hamming it up for them. "I'm afraid that Salome is going to have to miss some school over the next week, and we need to leave as soon as possible to make it on time to, ah-- attend to the arrangements."
Oh, of course, of course, they'll have her in the office to check out of school straightaway, and don't worry about her missing a couple of days, she's a good girl, she'll make it up. And while Mister Vasko offers a brave smile and a grim, "Thank you," the women discern which class Salome is in, and a runner goes to her class with a note that she's to come to the office immediately and bring her things with her.
Damn, Salome, called to the principal's office today of all days? Some fucking birthday, shit.