33 Apocalypse Ave, One last Friday

Eliot stood in the kitchen window, watching the marshmallow snow and not drinking his coffee.

He should be exhausted. Metaphysically sore from spending the day before shielding a bunch of bulletproof maniacs from taking too many bullets while other maniacs tried to figure out how the bit of polar island attached to theirs like a male anglerfish was powering a time loop.

But he felt the same as he had all three of the previous Fridays. Only his existential exhaustion had increased.

The oven timer dinged. Eliot ignored it.

Maybe he'd spend this particular Friday getting absolutely smashed out of his mind.

[open! fe d ag;hae
xoxo Murg]