Everest
Ever's shoulders relax and at least some of the tension he always carries there seems to melt away. Just a few minutes, and then they could go. That seemed doable. Even if the rest of the evening was spent following Mateo around (as was the norm), that was still better than feigning interest in maintaining his status as 'acquaintance with just about everyone he worked with. As Mateo sings, Ever cocks his head to the side, before writing laundry detergent in the upper corner of his notebook. The resounding yes causes Ever to tense, but otherwise remain silent.
He doesn't want to know and hopes that Mateo has just had a good orgasm and not the thing he thinks it is.
Ever hasn't changed, of course. Wearing nondescript blue jeans and a sweater from some charity-drive or other he gave money to, somehow he still looks the more awkward out of the pair. "What colours of cats tend to pee on things less?" Ever asks, standing. "I read that cats like to pee on things." He was peed on often enough at work by patients who had lost control of their bowels, but at least he was paid for that.
He doesn't want to know and hopes that Mateo has just had a good orgasm and not the thing he thinks it is.
Ever hasn't changed, of course. Wearing nondescript blue jeans and a sweater from some charity-drive or other he gave money to, somehow he still looks the more awkward out of the pair. "What colours of cats tend to pee on things less?" Ever asks, standing. "I read that cats like to pee on things." He was peed on often enough at work by patients who had lost control of their bowels, but at least he was paid for that.
I was a dead man walking,
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.
