12-24-2015, 02:33 AM
Oh, no. Oh, no no NO he did not wait through the rain for this fucker to pull something like this. McArthur pulled out his phone, struggling to stay calm, and showed the time display.
"Make sure you've wound that thing before scowling at me, sir! This is connected to the atomic clock in Chicago: this time is the most accurate time in the world! That watch of yours doesn't match up to this!" He waited. No dawning realization. Fine, he was used to pressing his point. He opened up the app settings. "Don't just gawk at me, think it through! Look, the app for it shows that it synchronizes directly with Chicago's clock--"
The three old men in front of him turned away from him and seemed to continue an interrupted conversation. The shit?! Were these fuckers BLIND?! He looked to the phone himself, ready to stab directly at the line of dialogue explaining what he just said, when...'Disconnected' stared back at him.
He dropped the phone. He felt the rain chilling him to the bone. McArthur felt torn: did he unleash the fury of Hell bubbling within his impossibly burdened stomach? Or did he just debase himself like that night in the interrogation room and beg for mercy?
His shoes were swamped, and it started hailing. Begging it was.
"WAIT!" He pulled himself out of his sodden shoes and just let every ounce of his misery show as he tripped and fell to the floor. "MY PHONE MESSED UP; IT'S NOT MY FAULT! I NEED THIS APARTMENT!" He pulled his face up to look at the faces of confusion and mild disgust. He turned to the cane-swinger. "YOU! I'M SURE YOU HAVE FAMILY THAT COULD TAKE CARE OF YOU; YOU SHOULD GET THEM TO TREAT YOU RIGHT!" He turned to the beer-gut boor. "AND I SAW THAT YOU DON'T HAVE A RING. YOU WON'T MEET ANYONE IN THIS NEIGHBORHOOD: IT'LL BE MORE OF THE SAME!" He finally turned to the landlord himself. "O-Or maybe that's all bullshit, I don't even know! I can't go on like this! I HAVE PROBLEMS YOU COULDN'T EVEN IMAGINE! Just...please! You say first impressions are important, but they're not EVERYTHING! I'll be good, I'll follow whatever rules you have! I'll even get my rent in early! Just...OH, COME ON, CAN'T YOU SEE I'M DESPERATE, HERE?! I'M...I'M SORRY, OKAY?! I'M SORRY I WAS RUDE TO YOU EARLIER TODAY! Now could you just...give me a fucking chance?!" He stopped to drop his head and catch his breath. Whether out of confusion or just some unfathomable instinct, he let his right hand rest on his stomach.
"Make sure you've wound that thing before scowling at me, sir! This is connected to the atomic clock in Chicago: this time is the most accurate time in the world! That watch of yours doesn't match up to this!" He waited. No dawning realization. Fine, he was used to pressing his point. He opened up the app settings. "Don't just gawk at me, think it through! Look, the app for it shows that it synchronizes directly with Chicago's clock--"
The three old men in front of him turned away from him and seemed to continue an interrupted conversation. The shit?! Were these fuckers BLIND?! He looked to the phone himself, ready to stab directly at the line of dialogue explaining what he just said, when...'Disconnected' stared back at him.
He dropped the phone. He felt the rain chilling him to the bone. McArthur felt torn: did he unleash the fury of Hell bubbling within his impossibly burdened stomach? Or did he just debase himself like that night in the interrogation room and beg for mercy?
His shoes were swamped, and it started hailing. Begging it was.
"WAIT!" He pulled himself out of his sodden shoes and just let every ounce of his misery show as he tripped and fell to the floor. "MY PHONE MESSED UP; IT'S NOT MY FAULT! I NEED THIS APARTMENT!" He pulled his face up to look at the faces of confusion and mild disgust. He turned to the cane-swinger. "YOU! I'M SURE YOU HAVE FAMILY THAT COULD TAKE CARE OF YOU; YOU SHOULD GET THEM TO TREAT YOU RIGHT!" He turned to the beer-gut boor. "AND I SAW THAT YOU DON'T HAVE A RING. YOU WON'T MEET ANYONE IN THIS NEIGHBORHOOD: IT'LL BE MORE OF THE SAME!" He finally turned to the landlord himself. "O-Or maybe that's all bullshit, I don't even know! I can't go on like this! I HAVE PROBLEMS YOU COULDN'T EVEN IMAGINE! Just...please! You say first impressions are important, but they're not EVERYTHING! I'll be good, I'll follow whatever rules you have! I'll even get my rent in early! Just...OH, COME ON, CAN'T YOU SEE I'M DESPERATE, HERE?! I'M...I'M SORRY, OKAY?! I'M SORRY I WAS RUDE TO YOU EARLIER TODAY! Now could you just...give me a fucking chance?!" He stopped to drop his head and catch his breath. Whether out of confusion or just some unfathomable instinct, he let his right hand rest on his stomach.