How I Spent My Summer Vacation part two
7/19/08 01:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: How I Spent My Summer Vacation part two
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/ Whit, Jason/Whit
Rating: R
Summary: All about what Clark learns on his summer job.
I promise, this one is not going to be a year long never-ending WIP.
The previous parts are sobbing pathetically in gratitude here…it was getting ripe in that cardboard box…
3
Clark was up before the sun the next morning, because he was terminally stupid and managed to get hired at a job that required him up at the ass-crack of dawn. He raced through his shortened list of chores, and checked the time. Five o'clock…Dad was up, getting dressed…Clark made a big pot of coffee and grabbed a cup, headed out to the porch to wait for Pete.
The sky was just barely turning pink; the sun was a thought on the horizon. Clark slurped at the cup of steaming coffee and waited….Pete had five minutes, and then he was running to SL&L. He refused to be late on his first day—there was plenty of time for that later. The morning air was still a little cool, but with a hint of underlying stickiness that promised the humidity was beginning to crank up. Just as Clark set his empty cup on the wide porch rail, Pete pulled up at the end of the drive, parked. With a huge grin, he leaned on the horn, even though Clark was standing right in front of him.
Clark hurried over, jumped into the car, and fixed Pete with a mock scowl. "A-hole."
"You know you want it," Pete said. "Hold onto your dick--" Pete peeled out of the driveway, and Clark winced. Dad was going to have a fit…
They pulled up at SL&L at the same time Roger, Billy and Greg did. At the end of the lot, two guys were sitting on the tailgate of one of the two white trucks decorated with a looping green SL&L logo, sharing a cigarette. They seemed to be deep in conversation. The taller blonde clapped the shorter one on the shoulder, and he laughed. They looked up and seemed to take notice of them for the first time. They both scowled. Both blonde, built, jock looking mother--
"Oh fu-uck. Clark—it's Whitney. Did Gabe tell you Whit was going to be our boss?" Pete had a thing about Whitney…not exactly a competition, because the other guy had to notice before it was a competition….
Clark shook his head and groaned inside. This was going to be the funnest fucking summer ever. The boyfriend of the girl he'd not so subtly lusted over for almost eleven years, the guy who almost hung his ass in the corn because of his stupid crush, was their boss? Great. Nothing could make this better.
Whitney Fordman came strolling across the lot toward them, and as they came closer, they could see that was the guy following him was Jason Teague. Fuck. Well, he'd been wrong. There was something that could make the summer better, and here it is was, walking straight at them and scowling like he was constipated. Teague was famous for being a dick. Tales of his dickhood circulated among the jocks, made their way even to guys in the lower tier—guys like Clark.
Whit came to a stop and grinned, crossed his arms and waited. Jason took a step in front of him. "Hello, pussies. Welcome to hell." Whit stood behind him and snorted.
"Hell? C'mon, Jay, it's not that serious." He dropped his hand on Jason's shoulder, and Jason shrugged it off like it was a horsefly. He took a step closer and Clark felt a little shiver of alarm. Jason looked just a little…nuts. Jason watched entirely too many war movies.
"I don't know what Gabe told you, but don’t think you're gonna be sitting around, sipping fuckin' lattes and lounging in the back of the truck." Pete and Clark exchanged 'what the fuck' looks while Jason droned on. "You're going to work and sweat and you don’t like it, fuckin' McDonalds has a fuckin' hat with your name on it. You, Nancy—" he pointed at Billy. "Ever run a stand-on lawn mower before?" Clark bet Billy was fighting the urge to shout no sergeant.
Billy's eyebrows crawled up to his hairline, and he looked at Jason like he was crazy. "No-oo…not much call for one in a second floor apartment…"
"Well guess what smartass; today's your lucky day. The rest of you, just follow Whit and he'll explain all. Problem, Kent?"
Clark was shocked, but mostly because Jason knew his name…how did he know his name? "No sir—Jason—no, Jason." Jerk. Any second now, he's gonna make us drop and give him twenty….
Whit gave them all a wry, lopsided grin. "Yeah…Jason's not exactly a morning person, he gets a lot sweeter when the sun's all the way up, and he's had a few dozen cupsa coffee. Don’t ya?" He snorted again when Jason flipped him off. Clark was still…open mouthed with surprise bordering on shock…Whit was teasing Jason the Dick? Jason didn't have a sense of humor. He was famous for not having any kind of real human feelings. In fact, if he didn't know who the alien in the crowd *was*, he'd pick Jason. The way Whit was laughing at every fucking thing out of the guy's mouth made him wonder if maybe Jason was hiding a sense of humor somewhere…maybe he *was* kidding? Clark was afraid to find out. He felt a sharp poke between his shoulder blades. Whit was staring at him. "Jesus—try to look a little less brain dead and get in the truck, Kent."
All during the drive, Whit kept throwing little looks at Clark as they drove, and Clark was just damn glad that Jason was in the pickup ahead of them…Pete leaned over and out of the corner of his mouth, thinking his voice was low enough that only Clark could hear but of course, astronauts in outer space could have heard him, 'whispered' "Semper Fi much?"
"Ross, shut the fuck up." Whit didn't raise his voice, didn't even look at him and Pete shut up. Clark gazed at him in awe, wished he had the power to do that. It was a lot more useful than setting shit on fire with your eyes…though he should be grateful it wasn't his ass…Pete's looking at me weird, damn, was I laughing out loud again?
They stopped at the big bank on Federal Street, the first job of the day, and pulled the trucks around the back. Whit showed them what they'd need and he and Jason showed them how to trim the little bushes lining the drive. He had a long, hyperthyroid version of Dad's hedge trimmers. "Attend, little boys. These are not bushes—they're fucking poodles, all right?" Jason was saying. "Green mother fucking poodles, we cut them so there's no mistaking them for real, useful bushes." He swept the trimmer over the bush, and each pass bit and nibbled away branches until it was a fluffy little ball of green. "See? Stupid…"
Whit chuckled again like Jason was a fucking comedian, shook his head like, 'oh, that Jason,' and led them to the next bush while Pete and Jason went to manhandle equipment out of the truck. Clark and Billy and Whit took turns cutting the bushes and Greg was there with wheelbarrows and a rake and he swept up the trimmings and fried in the sun like bacon.
Clark glanced over at him and did a double take. Fuck, you can probably see his ass from space… Clark walked over to the flaming red kid. "Say…didn't you do sunblock or something? Because you're really very red."
Roger whistled. "You're like, burning bad, man. That's gonna hurt like a mother fucker."
Greg looked at himself in surprise. He was red as a lobster, and he turned his arms this way and that--looked at his skin in a kind of marvel of horror, like he'd never seen it before. "I didn’t even feel it. Hunh."
Jason came up behind him and grimaced. "Shit, Greg, look at you. Idiot. Whit, look at this fuckin' idiot. He's as stupid as Rainman over there," he said, and jerked his chin at Roger.
Whit sauntered over and leaned on Jason's shoulders and laughed. "Fuck dude, you're going to hurt." They snickered together and Clark watched them laughing over Greg's possible flaming death. They seemed to be taking an awful lot of pleasure out of this. And just when he was starting to think Whit might not be so bad. The two walked back to the truck, shoulder to shoulder and talking about something that wasn't making Whit laugh, and Clark felt a twinge, a prick of something…he wondered what Lana saw in that creep. He wondered why Whit could be a good guy sometimes and then be such a dick.
"Man, I hate those motherfuckers. Look at them. They gon' fuck with me one too many times, an' imma have to kill me one." Roger scowled at the two older boys lounging against the truck. He yanked at the back of his shorts.
Billy sighed. "Please shut up, Roger, you're embarrassing me. Though why it should bother me at this point in time, I don’t know…"
"Nig—" Roger started and Billy froze.
Pete jerked his eyes toward Roger. "I will kill you with a smile on my face. Just so you know."
Roger frowned, blushed, and kicked a marigold out of the bed. Billy slapped the back of his head, hard enough to make the chain he was wearing swing. "Roger, why do you always have to be the yutz? Why am I the friend of the yutz?"
Roger rubbed the back of his head and adjusted the ball cap he was wearing over a bandana. "Fuck you." He stalked over to the truck, Billy following and reading him the riot act.
Clark watched Roger and Billy and muttered to Greg and Pete, "Why does Billy hang out with Rog anyway?"
Pete said, "What's a yutz?"
Greg shrugged. "Roger's an asshole…so what does that make Billy for putting up with him?" He walked off to join Whit and Jason.
Clark watched him walk away and sighed. "Greg's really changed this last year, hunh? You still pissed off at Roger?"
"Who, Roger? Fuck. Most of the time he makes me laugh, him and his Eminem wish he was self. I feel sorry for Billy—he's got the job of keeping him in check."
"It's like he's Roger's grandma or something," Clark laughed and Pete chuckled, his momentary anger forgotten. They joined the rest at the truck when the leads called them over.
Jason passed out paper cups and told them, "Lunch break. Take a full hour. Whit and I will be right back. Don’t leave the property." They jumped in Jason's truck and drove off.
Pete gaped after them. "Where the hell are they going? Can they do that?"
"They can do whatever the fuck they want, including going off to get something better than a baloney sandwich and fucking warm coke in a can," Roger groused, and sat his ass on the tailgate. Clark sat next to him, and grabbed his sandwich, tore it in half and ate half of it in one bite.
"Hey!"
"Don’t get your bandana in a bunch. Here, have half of my peanut butter. I like baloney."
Clark let Roger's steady stream of invective roll over him like a lullaby, kind of marveled at all the ways he came up with to describe Clark having sex with himself…he leaned back and tilted his face into the sunlight. The sun felt good, really good, like he was coated in it, soaking in the warm rays. Summers were the best time of year. Winters were great too--he felt really sharp and clear and full of energy. But summer…summer was like one long lazy hug for him. Like being a tiny bit buzzed all the time….
He closed his eyes and leaned back against a tool box, let the warmth seep into him, jogging his knee and humming to himself. The red wash behind his eyelids wheeled and swirled and occasionally a face would swim up…Lana, Chloe…Whit. Hm. He frowned a little. Where did they go? Would they get in trouble for leaving an inexperienced crew alone? Did he really give a shit if Jason and Whit got in trouble?
"Hey."
Clark felt the jog of an elbow in his side and rolled with the push. "What?"
"You sleeping?" Roger asked. He glared at Roger--his knee was still bouncing. He glanced at his knee, glanced at Roger. Roger grinned.
"No. I *was* really comfortable but thank you for saving me from that." Roger snickered, and Billy glanced over from where he and Pete where sitting. He got up, stretched and walked over to Clark and Roger.
"It's twelve thirty, should we get back to work?" Billy looked skeptically at the stand-on mowers. "Anybody ever used one of those lawnmowers before?
Clark nodded. "We use one at home for the back yard. I can do the lawn. How about you guys trim the bushes on the other side of the bank and Greg and Pete can finish mulching the flower beds that pissed Roger off?"
They split up to do their various jobs but Pete stopped Clark. "Hey. Whit and Jason aren't going to be happy that we didn’t wait for them. They're going to think we're trying to show them up."
Clark shrugged. "Gabe said he wanted self-starters on the team. Well, here we are, self-starting."
Whit and Jason roared into the lot fifteen minutes later, looking guilty, and when they saw the boys had things under control, Jason managed to look relieved and disgruntled both and Whit laughed. He pushed Jason around, teasing him and the crew until he finally started to smile. Clark shook his head. He did not get it. What the hell…Whit. Weird.
They did a few fast food places, a residential job and that was it. The end of the day came a lot faster than he'd expected. They gratefully packed up, more than ready to call it a day. Whit passed Clark and said, "You did a good job today, Kent." Clark grinned back at Whit and had a feeling that he looked goofy and pathetically grateful of a good word. Whit just slapped his shoulder, and gave him a little push toward the truck, just like he did with Jason, and that made Clark blush and grin harder.
Jason came up on his other side, startling him. The guy moved like a god damn cat. He stared at Clark, not exactly hostile, not exactly warm, which was kind of cat-like too, and said, "I know you were the one who took charge here, Kent. I don't get it. Why do you always hide what you can do?" Clark opened his mouth, closed it. Shrugged. Jason narrowed his eyes at him and finally said, "Figured. Good job. Meet you at the shop." Clark watched him walk away…he had…really long lashes. And was a huge asshole. Really huge.
That night, he fell into bed feeling kind of what he imagined Dad meant when he said he was tired. Sometimes spending the whole day in the hot sun did that, almost like he was overloaded or something. At any rate, he'd survived his first day, and felt pretty good about it. Everyone did okay, according to Whit, and everyone got through the first day in one piece. Except for Greg. Poor guy. He was so red, right now he was probably glowing like a lightning bug in the dark…
part 3
TBC
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/ Whit, Jason/Whit
Rating: R
Summary: All about what Clark learns on his summer job.
I promise, this one is not going to be a year long never-ending WIP.
The previous parts are sobbing pathetically in gratitude here…it was getting ripe in that cardboard box…
3
Clark was up before the sun the next morning, because he was terminally stupid and managed to get hired at a job that required him up at the ass-crack of dawn. He raced through his shortened list of chores, and checked the time. Five o'clock…Dad was up, getting dressed…Clark made a big pot of coffee and grabbed a cup, headed out to the porch to wait for Pete.
The sky was just barely turning pink; the sun was a thought on the horizon. Clark slurped at the cup of steaming coffee and waited….Pete had five minutes, and then he was running to SL&L. He refused to be late on his first day—there was plenty of time for that later. The morning air was still a little cool, but with a hint of underlying stickiness that promised the humidity was beginning to crank up. Just as Clark set his empty cup on the wide porch rail, Pete pulled up at the end of the drive, parked. With a huge grin, he leaned on the horn, even though Clark was standing right in front of him.
Clark hurried over, jumped into the car, and fixed Pete with a mock scowl. "A-hole."
"You know you want it," Pete said. "Hold onto your dick--" Pete peeled out of the driveway, and Clark winced. Dad was going to have a fit…
They pulled up at SL&L at the same time Roger, Billy and Greg did. At the end of the lot, two guys were sitting on the tailgate of one of the two white trucks decorated with a looping green SL&L logo, sharing a cigarette. They seemed to be deep in conversation. The taller blonde clapped the shorter one on the shoulder, and he laughed. They looked up and seemed to take notice of them for the first time. They both scowled. Both blonde, built, jock looking mother--
"Oh fu-uck. Clark—it's Whitney. Did Gabe tell you Whit was going to be our boss?" Pete had a thing about Whitney…not exactly a competition, because the other guy had to notice before it was a competition….
Clark shook his head and groaned inside. This was going to be the funnest fucking summer ever. The boyfriend of the girl he'd not so subtly lusted over for almost eleven years, the guy who almost hung his ass in the corn because of his stupid crush, was their boss? Great. Nothing could make this better.
Whitney Fordman came strolling across the lot toward them, and as they came closer, they could see that was the guy following him was Jason Teague. Fuck. Well, he'd been wrong. There was something that could make the summer better, and here it is was, walking straight at them and scowling like he was constipated. Teague was famous for being a dick. Tales of his dickhood circulated among the jocks, made their way even to guys in the lower tier—guys like Clark.
Whit came to a stop and grinned, crossed his arms and waited. Jason took a step in front of him. "Hello, pussies. Welcome to hell." Whit stood behind him and snorted.
"Hell? C'mon, Jay, it's not that serious." He dropped his hand on Jason's shoulder, and Jason shrugged it off like it was a horsefly. He took a step closer and Clark felt a little shiver of alarm. Jason looked just a little…nuts. Jason watched entirely too many war movies.
"I don't know what Gabe told you, but don’t think you're gonna be sitting around, sipping fuckin' lattes and lounging in the back of the truck." Pete and Clark exchanged 'what the fuck' looks while Jason droned on. "You're going to work and sweat and you don’t like it, fuckin' McDonalds has a fuckin' hat with your name on it. You, Nancy—" he pointed at Billy. "Ever run a stand-on lawn mower before?" Clark bet Billy was fighting the urge to shout no sergeant.
Billy's eyebrows crawled up to his hairline, and he looked at Jason like he was crazy. "No-oo…not much call for one in a second floor apartment…"
"Well guess what smartass; today's your lucky day. The rest of you, just follow Whit and he'll explain all. Problem, Kent?"
Clark was shocked, but mostly because Jason knew his name…how did he know his name? "No sir—Jason—no, Jason." Jerk. Any second now, he's gonna make us drop and give him twenty….
Whit gave them all a wry, lopsided grin. "Yeah…Jason's not exactly a morning person, he gets a lot sweeter when the sun's all the way up, and he's had a few dozen cupsa coffee. Don’t ya?" He snorted again when Jason flipped him off. Clark was still…open mouthed with surprise bordering on shock…Whit was teasing Jason the Dick? Jason didn't have a sense of humor. He was famous for not having any kind of real human feelings. In fact, if he didn't know who the alien in the crowd *was*, he'd pick Jason. The way Whit was laughing at every fucking thing out of the guy's mouth made him wonder if maybe Jason was hiding a sense of humor somewhere…maybe he *was* kidding? Clark was afraid to find out. He felt a sharp poke between his shoulder blades. Whit was staring at him. "Jesus—try to look a little less brain dead and get in the truck, Kent."
All during the drive, Whit kept throwing little looks at Clark as they drove, and Clark was just damn glad that Jason was in the pickup ahead of them…Pete leaned over and out of the corner of his mouth, thinking his voice was low enough that only Clark could hear but of course, astronauts in outer space could have heard him, 'whispered' "Semper Fi much?"
"Ross, shut the fuck up." Whit didn't raise his voice, didn't even look at him and Pete shut up. Clark gazed at him in awe, wished he had the power to do that. It was a lot more useful than setting shit on fire with your eyes…though he should be grateful it wasn't his ass…Pete's looking at me weird, damn, was I laughing out loud again?
They stopped at the big bank on Federal Street, the first job of the day, and pulled the trucks around the back. Whit showed them what they'd need and he and Jason showed them how to trim the little bushes lining the drive. He had a long, hyperthyroid version of Dad's hedge trimmers. "Attend, little boys. These are not bushes—they're fucking poodles, all right?" Jason was saying. "Green mother fucking poodles, we cut them so there's no mistaking them for real, useful bushes." He swept the trimmer over the bush, and each pass bit and nibbled away branches until it was a fluffy little ball of green. "See? Stupid…"
Whit chuckled again like Jason was a fucking comedian, shook his head like, 'oh, that Jason,' and led them to the next bush while Pete and Jason went to manhandle equipment out of the truck. Clark and Billy and Whit took turns cutting the bushes and Greg was there with wheelbarrows and a rake and he swept up the trimmings and fried in the sun like bacon.
Clark glanced over at him and did a double take. Fuck, you can probably see his ass from space… Clark walked over to the flaming red kid. "Say…didn't you do sunblock or something? Because you're really very red."
Roger whistled. "You're like, burning bad, man. That's gonna hurt like a mother fucker."
Greg looked at himself in surprise. He was red as a lobster, and he turned his arms this way and that--looked at his skin in a kind of marvel of horror, like he'd never seen it before. "I didn’t even feel it. Hunh."
Jason came up behind him and grimaced. "Shit, Greg, look at you. Idiot. Whit, look at this fuckin' idiot. He's as stupid as Rainman over there," he said, and jerked his chin at Roger.
Whit sauntered over and leaned on Jason's shoulders and laughed. "Fuck dude, you're going to hurt." They snickered together and Clark watched them laughing over Greg's possible flaming death. They seemed to be taking an awful lot of pleasure out of this. And just when he was starting to think Whit might not be so bad. The two walked back to the truck, shoulder to shoulder and talking about something that wasn't making Whit laugh, and Clark felt a twinge, a prick of something…he wondered what Lana saw in that creep. He wondered why Whit could be a good guy sometimes and then be such a dick.
"Man, I hate those motherfuckers. Look at them. They gon' fuck with me one too many times, an' imma have to kill me one." Roger scowled at the two older boys lounging against the truck. He yanked at the back of his shorts.
Billy sighed. "Please shut up, Roger, you're embarrassing me. Though why it should bother me at this point in time, I don’t know…"
"Nig—" Roger started and Billy froze.
Pete jerked his eyes toward Roger. "I will kill you with a smile on my face. Just so you know."
Roger frowned, blushed, and kicked a marigold out of the bed. Billy slapped the back of his head, hard enough to make the chain he was wearing swing. "Roger, why do you always have to be the yutz? Why am I the friend of the yutz?"
Roger rubbed the back of his head and adjusted the ball cap he was wearing over a bandana. "Fuck you." He stalked over to the truck, Billy following and reading him the riot act.
Clark watched Roger and Billy and muttered to Greg and Pete, "Why does Billy hang out with Rog anyway?"
Pete said, "What's a yutz?"
Greg shrugged. "Roger's an asshole…so what does that make Billy for putting up with him?" He walked off to join Whit and Jason.
Clark watched him walk away and sighed. "Greg's really changed this last year, hunh? You still pissed off at Roger?"
"Who, Roger? Fuck. Most of the time he makes me laugh, him and his Eminem wish he was self. I feel sorry for Billy—he's got the job of keeping him in check."
"It's like he's Roger's grandma or something," Clark laughed and Pete chuckled, his momentary anger forgotten. They joined the rest at the truck when the leads called them over.
Jason passed out paper cups and told them, "Lunch break. Take a full hour. Whit and I will be right back. Don’t leave the property." They jumped in Jason's truck and drove off.
Pete gaped after them. "Where the hell are they going? Can they do that?"
"They can do whatever the fuck they want, including going off to get something better than a baloney sandwich and fucking warm coke in a can," Roger groused, and sat his ass on the tailgate. Clark sat next to him, and grabbed his sandwich, tore it in half and ate half of it in one bite.
"Hey!"
"Don’t get your bandana in a bunch. Here, have half of my peanut butter. I like baloney."
Clark let Roger's steady stream of invective roll over him like a lullaby, kind of marveled at all the ways he came up with to describe Clark having sex with himself…he leaned back and tilted his face into the sunlight. The sun felt good, really good, like he was coated in it, soaking in the warm rays. Summers were the best time of year. Winters were great too--he felt really sharp and clear and full of energy. But summer…summer was like one long lazy hug for him. Like being a tiny bit buzzed all the time….
He closed his eyes and leaned back against a tool box, let the warmth seep into him, jogging his knee and humming to himself. The red wash behind his eyelids wheeled and swirled and occasionally a face would swim up…Lana, Chloe…Whit. Hm. He frowned a little. Where did they go? Would they get in trouble for leaving an inexperienced crew alone? Did he really give a shit if Jason and Whit got in trouble?
"Hey."
Clark felt the jog of an elbow in his side and rolled with the push. "What?"
"You sleeping?" Roger asked. He glared at Roger--his knee was still bouncing. He glanced at his knee, glanced at Roger. Roger grinned.
"No. I *was* really comfortable but thank you for saving me from that." Roger snickered, and Billy glanced over from where he and Pete where sitting. He got up, stretched and walked over to Clark and Roger.
"It's twelve thirty, should we get back to work?" Billy looked skeptically at the stand-on mowers. "Anybody ever used one of those lawnmowers before?
Clark nodded. "We use one at home for the back yard. I can do the lawn. How about you guys trim the bushes on the other side of the bank and Greg and Pete can finish mulching the flower beds that pissed Roger off?"
They split up to do their various jobs but Pete stopped Clark. "Hey. Whit and Jason aren't going to be happy that we didn’t wait for them. They're going to think we're trying to show them up."
Clark shrugged. "Gabe said he wanted self-starters on the team. Well, here we are, self-starting."
Whit and Jason roared into the lot fifteen minutes later, looking guilty, and when they saw the boys had things under control, Jason managed to look relieved and disgruntled both and Whit laughed. He pushed Jason around, teasing him and the crew until he finally started to smile. Clark shook his head. He did not get it. What the hell…Whit. Weird.
They did a few fast food places, a residential job and that was it. The end of the day came a lot faster than he'd expected. They gratefully packed up, more than ready to call it a day. Whit passed Clark and said, "You did a good job today, Kent." Clark grinned back at Whit and had a feeling that he looked goofy and pathetically grateful of a good word. Whit just slapped his shoulder, and gave him a little push toward the truck, just like he did with Jason, and that made Clark blush and grin harder.
Jason came up on his other side, startling him. The guy moved like a god damn cat. He stared at Clark, not exactly hostile, not exactly warm, which was kind of cat-like too, and said, "I know you were the one who took charge here, Kent. I don't get it. Why do you always hide what you can do?" Clark opened his mouth, closed it. Shrugged. Jason narrowed his eyes at him and finally said, "Figured. Good job. Meet you at the shop." Clark watched him walk away…he had…really long lashes. And was a huge asshole. Really huge.
That night, he fell into bed feeling kind of what he imagined Dad meant when he said he was tired. Sometimes spending the whole day in the hot sun did that, almost like he was overloaded or something. At any rate, he'd survived his first day, and felt pretty good about it. Everyone did okay, according to Whit, and everyone got through the first day in one piece. Except for Greg. Poor guy. He was so red, right now he was probably glowing like a lightning bug in the dark…
part 3
TBC
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7/19/08 10:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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