true trash {open}

[Aiden Clarke]

It took a lot of patience and concentration to sit through an entire show. At least, Aiden thought it did. As far as he was concerned, theaters were complete wastes of time--it was nearly impossible to get through the whole thing without at least getting up to go to the bathroom and, most of the time, the show was not nearly entertaining enough to stay till the end. The popcorn was shitty and it was something like five bucks a bucket and the candy and soda were so overpriced, it wasn't even worth it.

All in all, a much better theater experience was to loiter behind it, which usually involved some sort of illicit activity. Which was, of course, the reason that Aiden was at the theater. It hadn't started as the reason; his original intentions had been noble enough. He had been going to buy a ticket to whatever chick play was going on [not one of the ones that would label him as gay, but one that would make him look sensitive] so that he could pick up a girl who would assume that he would stick around after he got what he wanted, but that plan had failed when he'd tried to watch TV beforehand--he couldn't even sit still in his own living room.

He couldn't say that he didn't try, though. He had made it all the way to the theater before deciding that the vodka in his backpack was infinitely more interesting than watching two idiots slobber all over each other. With that comforting thought, he'd made his way around the theater, past the geeks sitting outside, and to the back, where everything that nobody wanted was. But that was just how he liked it--by the dumpster, around the littered cans and bottles, surrounded by grotesque graffiti. It was so much more peaceful than in any of those naturey places, especially since everyone went to those.

It took a few kicks, but he had finally managed to kick a few crates into a nice little bench. He sat, sprawling out as best he could over the metal, and pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket. Next came the zippo, which could provide so much more entertainment once he was tipsy, but for now would have to serve as the fuel for his tobacco. After the first drag, he felt much more relaxed than before, and reached into his bag to find his dearest friend: the vodka. It wasn't cold anymore, but whatever. The true delight of vodka was not in its taste, but in its contents.

"Damn," he said as he exhaled deeply, smoke spiralling upward. It wasn't so much a curse as an exclamation of feeling--this was one place where he could say damn and actually feel as though it were releasing stress. Funny what being among the garbage did for a guy.

With a deep, centering breath, Aiden brought the bottle to his lips and took a gulp.