"can i get a uh...."

big may be unemployed but, counting his blessings, he doesn't have to pay rent. his most active text conversation is with a man whose name in his phone is nestled between two green leaves. 'fishermen' was less an occupation and more an all-consuming hobby in the same way that people into crossfit fail to speak half-a-sentence without mentioning they do crossfit. he held a fishing pole hung over his shoulder, less for convenience and more to validate himself. it was just a simple rod, but it was a simple rod that portrayed purpose: he may just be a large dude with not much to call his own, but make the wrong move and he'd fuck you up with 6 (six) magikarp. or maybe he won't.

this was big. making it. living his best life. maybe a little high whenever it got hard to look straight into the mirror.

"you got any everclear?" uhhh... no.

he counted the money from his pocket. he looked back through the entrance of the shop. it was starting to drizzle, a little -- far from torrential, not even enough to generate that pleasant white noise that'd put big to sleep.

"you think it'll be cold out tonight?" he asked the lady behind the register, not making eye contact with her, still intent on watching the rain outside through the window. probably, i dunno.

"you got any ponchos, then?"

umm. just the plastic kind.

- - -

a minute later, big scuttled up to the side of a tree on the outskirts of enju and sat cross legged. the grass around the tree was really quite beautiful. dark green. wet. i could start a farm and forsake all the niceties of modern life type grass. he was adorned in an overlarge neon yellow plastic poncho. rain from the leaves of the tree above him dripped water onto his head, which rolled off the side of his rain poncho.

his pokemon, wingull, preened next to him. she wasn't bothered by the little bit of a drizzle that fell onto her -- in fact she was invigorated by it. big's fingers ran through the dark-green grass, tearing up little handfuls of it and then slowly dropping the blades of grass, one or two at a time, back onto the ground. his mind was in another place, mostly unaware of his surroundings outside of 20 or 30 blades of grass at any given time, the little noises his wingull would make intermittently, and the asinine will to detect some type of discernible pattern in the pitter-patter of the rain against the top of his poncho's little plastic hood.

pokemon: level 5 wingull (perfect health)
summary: big goes to the store, gets a rain poncho. puts it on, rests up against a tree. plays with some grass. wingull is preening next to him.
tagged: Evelyn Laburnum