Mugshot

Talus hadn't been to work in two weeks. Had given-up on that job, called-in for five days claiming sickness, only to be told on the fifth day that his job was longer available. After hearing the news, he wandered around the neighborhood on a regular basis. His grandmother had left a small fund for him, but he found he needed a job, however small. He had stopped playing the violin as well. For the most part, his life was silent. Quiet, all around him was a loud silence. He found himself on one of his walks standing in front of the radio station. It was early, 6AM or so, and he walked into the station, perhaps for a job. Perhaps to quiet the silence. The manager said he could clean some floors, the bathrooms and maybe re-stack records. Perfect.

His day started at sunset and ended at sunrise. He wasn't too fond of the music played on the graveyard shift, but music was music. He walked for a good hour before going into work. Walking is good for the soul, yet on this day -- probably like many other days, Talus saw an altercation in the parking lot next to the strip club. He wished that the club had burned down instead of the Forever 21 shop. Both were obnoxious, but at least the shop only sold clothes, not real human beings. No one bothered to slow down to see what was happening. A knife, maybe a bottle? Didn't matter. Familiarity breeds apathy. Talus walked past and to his work. Toilets didn't wash themselves.