set the scene? sure...
radiohead's in rainbows blares from the bose ipod dock in a dark corner of the room. thom yorke's ethereal wails deliver an ironic sense of hope to the place. a faint trail of smoke lingers. RG sits at the table in the dimly lit dining room, the glow of the laptop - meiwah's sushi page on the screen - causes him to squint slightly, taddling on the modest beginnings of crow's feet in the corners of his eyes, and he's contemplating a cigarette. earlier he spotted an old pack of smokes on a shelf in the basement. god knows how old they are?
scattered about the stainless steel tabletop are the following, in no particular order:
- work files on some media company ceo RG's meeting tomorrow AM
- phones - cell and land line
- amex card
- half glass of red wine - debating whether 1/2 empty or 1/2 full
- diet coke can given a makeover, now a makeshift device
- 3 lighters, 2 of which are dead
- nalgene bottle of water, full
- netflix dvds - halloween (rob zombie remake), live free or die hard, 30 days of night
- paste magazine
missing from this picture are wifey and kids, all swayze on this particular night. mommy and cole are in FLA, and the jackal is doing a PJ party at the nanny's.
terrible, ruby-red welt on his right arm, a hell of a pinch. he looks around the room to verify.
yes - it's true. he's home alone (and apparently referring to himself in the 3rd person tonight). the netflix selection might have given away the fact that he premeditated this.
of course he misses them terribly. still, how many times in his lifetime (at least the next 20 years) will he have the entire house alone with zero responsibility?
delivery guy at the door, time to get after it. probably the toughest question he might face tonight is over which flick to watch first. life's hard.