sadfreezingbrit_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sadfreezingbrit_archive) wrote2011-07-17 09:16 pm
sadfreezingbrit_archive) wrote2011-07-17 09:16 pm
Entry tags:
one old bookshop [20/??? artefacts collected]
As the dust settled on a stack of yellowed magazines I remembered why I had learned to love the silence. Silence was all I had left now. Silence and books that were never bought, a telephone that never rang.
Every day I would pour myself a cup of coffee, sit behind the counter and read the paper. Later I would do inventory and I would stop near the grimy mirror in the corner and look for a familiar face that never showed.
I would dutifully wait for a customer or two and at the end of the day I would grab the old broom and sweep the floor. Every day I would wipe the counter and every time I would wash my hands before closing and wonder if I would ever stop smelling the blood.
Then, after every burning sunset, I would lock the store and for my own benefit I would pause for a moment and fake disappointment and surprise at yet another day without sales gone by.
In a city that was bustling with life at every corner my little shop was only a relict; dead and long forgotten. We had that much in common at least.
Outside the noise of the morning traffic slowly died down like a drizzle of summer rain. I grabbed my cup and the paper and sat down behind the counter. Today, I thought, would be just like any other day.
[ OOC: Information on noir!Philip is here. All threads take place before his encounter with Dean, unless somebody wants to play medic. ]
Every day I would pour myself a cup of coffee, sit behind the counter and read the paper. Later I would do inventory and I would stop near the grimy mirror in the corner and look for a familiar face that never showed.
I would dutifully wait for a customer or two and at the end of the day I would grab the old broom and sweep the floor. Every day I would wipe the counter and every time I would wash my hands before closing and wonder if I would ever stop smelling the blood.
Then, after every burning sunset, I would lock the store and for my own benefit I would pause for a moment and fake disappointment and surprise at yet another day without sales gone by.
In a city that was bustling with life at every corner my little shop was only a relict; dead and long forgotten. We had that much in common at least.
Outside the noise of the morning traffic slowly died down like a drizzle of summer rain. I grabbed my cup and the paper and sat down behind the counter. Today, I thought, would be just like any other day.
[ OOC: Information on noir!Philip is here. All threads take place before his encounter with Dean, unless somebody wants to play medic. ]
no subject
But that was the story of this town. Hop-heads and greasers running around taking what they wanted, leaving holes in anyone with the bad luck to be in the way. It was a world I knew inside and out. But that was a time in my life I was still trying to leave behind. If only I'd known it, LaFresque and I could've had a lot to talk about.
"He must've left a trail. But it'll have to stay hot while we get you alive again. Stiffs make pretty poor conversation."
I started moving him towards the door, one busted footstep at a time.
no subject
Wasn't that unusual for a bookkeeper to know things. And in a town like this even the smallest shop would get a little wind blowing in the dirt from the street. But the fine art of making a fella sing without asking him for the last dance was just a nod outside the know-how I'd given Philip on the way.
Right now I realised I couldn't trust my thoughts not to gush right out along with all the blood, so I followed along silently. If Kralie was gonna pick up a trail after this then I wanted to make damn sure that it was gonna lead away from me. Either of me.