Date: 2015-12-24 04:13 am (UTC)
churbooseanon: (Default)
Things happen.

This is a universal fact that David has long since come to accept. No, more than that. Bad things happen. Have not the last months of his life been an exploration in this concept. Wasn't PFL properly summed up, long before everything went to hell, in those words?

Bad things happen. Like you walk towards your apartment door in some grungy old building on some shitty backwater planet far from where anyone would ever look for you. Bad things happen like you know you're walking towards your apartment door and then you're tripping over your feet and counting the fibers of a carpet that does not exist.

There was no carpet in his apartment, except in the rarely used bedroom. His feet are always cold, which is why he wears socks. Doubly true since Eon because the kitten liked to play with his feet and the tiny extra protection of socks always helped. But this isn't the color of the carpet in the bedroom, so David, formerly Agent Washington of Project Freelancer, stares at the fibers for a while and wonders just what memory he's falling into. Because clearly, it's the only rational answer.

Either that or he's finally gone well and truly insane.
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