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this has to be the worst of all bad days and the worst part of this terrible day was in was not the first and it would not be that last
it was currently the heat of the hottest summer days in galloway, Louisiana at the tail end of July maybe the 28th.. 29th? it didn’t matter and Timothy rand’s air conditioner had broken
usually this wouldn’t have been a problem, his dad would crack open his tool box fiddle around with the box hanging precariously in the window and bing bang boom the problem would practically solve itself
but currently his mother and father were away for a reason rand really could not remember and didn’t really care to remember so there was no one to magically fix the problem because god knows he couldn’t high out of his mind as he was
timothy rand laid flat on his back in ‘his’ attic wearing a wife beater, jeans he had fashioned into shorts after the knees and cuffs had been torn apart, his sunglasses, and nothing much else
faintly as rand takes a long toke of his blunt a thought passes through his head ‘your in the attic heat rises stupid..’ the faint voice of his close friend rolan deep whispers in his mind
he sits up straight his skin unsticking from the floor boards “fuck. you’re right” he mutters, blunt hanging loosely and precariously from his lip sunglasses askew on his face
he picks his lighter from the floor sliping it into his pocket before standing up stretching, sighing, wiping the sweat off his face with a bit of his shirt, stubbing out his joint setting it aside for later and walking down the stairs from the attic
rand stumbles into the kitchen grabbing a glass of water setting it aside and putting his head under the tap until he feels cooled down enough to function
he grabs has glass and walks dripping with water to the living room and thumping down on the lumpy couch
as rand lays motionless on the sofa staring at the stained ceiling of ‘his’ home he wonders want his friends are doing
roland’s probably gotten a job or something since college isn’t active during July, god knows he’s not coming home until he absolutely needs to
kian’s probably living it up playing in bars going to clubs living the party life like he was meant to
rand wonders lightly in passing what they look like now and like a mosquito bite the thought starts to expand and itch into the realization that timothy rand does know what his friends look like anymore hits him
well obviously he remembers what they looked like when there were here he remembers his kian and his rolan
he remembers there faces when they would play dungeons and dragons up it the attic, he remembers how rolan’s brow furrowed in worry as rand and kian would do bike tricks on the makeshift ramp they made, how kians hair would hang longer to his neck when they would go swimming on hot bullshit terrible days like this
how they would make it slightly less hot and bullshit and terrible just by being around
and as Timothy rand sits bleary eyed in his nowhere town in his shit fuck house he stairs at the rotary phone on the side table and he knows deep deep down he’s never going to call