Tilted Forum Project Discussion Community - View Single Post

RoboBlaster · 01-28-2005, 03:30 PM

Randol Carter was used to his hands losing all feeling due to the cold weather. In fact, he almost enjoyed the winter because then his hands wouldn't hurt so much after hours of chucking overfilled bags into the back of the truck. That, and the death grip needed to hold on to the steel bars on the side of the truck. Randol had heard stories about some of the workers falling from the truck on the busy street, and he didn't want to be a part of the story. He used to fight the cold with bourbon - the cheap stuff. He could only afford the good stuff on special occasions. Now that he is twelve weeks sober, he has to deal with the cold by enjoying the numbness. One day at a time, they always said in AA. The daydream of musty rooms and stale coffee was cut by the psshhhtttt sound of the garbage truck applying the brakes. Time to move. This time, the bag wasn't too bad; it was big, but it seemed to be filled with mostly shredded paper and styrofoam cups. The hardest part was slinging the bag over his head so that it would fall in the back of the truck just right without bothering his sholder too much. The alcohol covered that up very nicely, too. Randol wished he could quit his job and find one that didn't require flinging trash in the cold as balls mornings, but there was no way to find a job that payed so well for a GED graduate with child support each and every goddamn month. The truck rounded the corner and Randol uttered a curse. Sitting on the edge was a recliner. Furniture duty the guys at the dump called it, and they all knew it was the worst. Not only do you have to load the furniture on the truck, you have to make sure it gets perfectly compacted by the crusher, meaning you had to crawl all the way in and monkey around in the foulest grime imagineable. The chair must have been sitting there since Wednesday, as it had enough snow to fill in the seat and coat the arms. To Randol, this was about the worst sight that could be seen. And he wanted a drink. Bad. The truck came to a stop and Randol felt his head begin to shake as he plopped down off the side. He ambled to the chair and stared at its ugly pattern and the ugly snow. He instinctively reached for the pocket in which he used to keep his flask. Finding that it wasn't there, Randol felt a click in the back of his neck, and sat.

01-28-2005, 03:30 PM	#52 (permalink)
RoboBlaster Psycho Location: Ouuuterrrr Spaaaaacccceeee	Randol Carter was used to his hands losing all feeling due to the cold weather. In fact, he almost enjoyed the winter because then his hands wouldn't hurt so much after hours of chucking overfilled bags into the back of the truck. That, and the death grip needed to hold on to the steel bars on the side of the truck. Randol had heard stories about some of the workers falling from the truck on the busy street, and he didn't want to be a part of the story. He used to fight the cold with bourbon - the cheap stuff. He could only afford the good stuff on special occasions. Now that he is twelve weeks sober, he has to deal with the cold by enjoying the numbness. One day at a time, they always said in AA. The daydream of musty rooms and stale coffee was cut by the psshhhtttt sound of the garbage truck applying the brakes. Time to move. This time, the bag wasn't too bad; it was big, but it seemed to be filled with mostly shredded paper and styrofoam cups. The hardest part was slinging the bag over his head so that it would fall in the back of the truck just right without bothering his sholder too much. The alcohol covered that up very nicely, too. Randol wished he could quit his job and find one that didn't require flinging trash in the cold as balls mornings, but there was no way to find a job that payed so well for a GED graduate with child support each and every goddamn month. The truck rounded the corner and Randol uttered a curse. Sitting on the edge was a recliner. Furniture duty the guys at the dump called it, and they all knew it was the worst. Not only do you have to load the furniture on the truck, you have to make sure it gets perfectly compacted by the crusher, meaning you had to crawl all the way in and monkey around in the foulest grime imagineable. The chair must have been sitting there since Wednesday, as it had enough snow to fill in the seat and coat the arms. To Randol, this was about the worst sight that could be seen. And he wanted a drink. Bad. The truck came to a stop and Randol felt his head begin to shake as he plopped down off the side. He ambled to the chair and stared at its ugly pattern and the ugly snow. He instinctively reached for the pocket in which he used to keep his flask. Finding that it wasn't there, Randol felt a click in the back of his neck, and sat.