Post by griff on Jul 22, 2009 6:09:37 GMT -5
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Time ; 10:00pm.
[/size][/font]Time ; 10:00pm.
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It was a tired look that hung on Griffins face today, he didn’t want to be in New York, and he had not slept the entire flight the night before, having a fear of flying made it hard for him to do anything but sit in his seat with his eyes clenched shut and his hands almost ripping the arm rests off the seats But he was here, and he was planning on staying on this continent for at least a while. Shane had called him out here, leaving the rest of the business in the hands of their friends across the oceans.
Griff sat on the railing of a bridge that crossed over a walk way. He yawned and stretched and then pulled out a silver cigarette holder. He had a few regular cigarettes in there, he rolled his own so they were of no brand name. He also had a few that contained marijuana instead of tobacco. He pulled out on of those and then slipped the case back into the pocket of his hoodie. He put the cigarette in between his lips and then lit it with a cheap bic lighter that he had bought on the duty free shop in the airport. He took a long hit from it, held it in and then released slowly. He then closed his eyes and sighed. He really did need to go home. His house in New York had not been lived in in 4 years, though he did have a maid keep up with the cleaning, so that wouldn’t be horrible, but he did hope that the yard was good enough for Rorry, it was fenced in, yes, but the dog was big, and it would take a mighty tall fence to keep him in, and for the life of Griffin, he couldn’t remember how tall the fence was.
But it would all be dealt with in time, Rorry was not coming for another two days and by then Griff would have the house ready for him. Griffin sat there and sighed, his black baseball hat was on backwards, his sunglasses were perched carefully on his hat, so they would not fall. His feet dangled from the bridge, and his arm rested on his knee which he put his head in his hand. His other hand still had the cigarette in it and was tapping on his jeans to the rhythm of some stupid song that was stuck in his head. He took another hit from the cigarette which would probably be more truthfully named a joint, and slowly let the smoke out once again. He would be hungry soon and not for blood, since he had already taken care of that little issue before settling down on the bridge.
He always had a thing for French fries and chicken nuggets with sweet and sour sauce when he was high… too bad the closest on was way over on Columbus…
