<div class="floatleft">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/de/46/00/de460000d103b2a84c5891d8aeb1819e.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Wyatt Colton Faulkner (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=250173.msg12370769#msg12370769)<br/><strong>City | Date | Time:</strong>St. Cloud, Minnesota | His Apartment | January 2014 | 11:30 p.m.<br/><strong>Tagging | Mentioning:</strong>Silky Levres (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=250173.msg12373275#msg12373275)<br/><strong>Content:</strong><em>What am I doing?</em><br/><hr/><br/>Someone else might have been unnerved by the fact that a stranger had free reign of their home, fully capable of rummaging through their belongings when eyes were not trained upon them. Home was a place where an individual could let down their guard; be themselves without fear of persecution. To permit someone in their intimate oasis, for an extended period of time, implied a certain trust between those individuals. Part of the reason for Wyatt’s seemingly indifference was due to the burdensome weight was due to the burdensome weight of his exhaustion. He had worked over twelve hours, without much time to rest or even sit until the latter hours of his late night shift.<br/><br/>Then, there was the fact that he did not own any possessions of significant value, at least not to anyone else. Everything, from the towels folded in the closet to his lumpy mattress, showed its age in some; edges were often tattered and wooden surfaces scrapped. Wyatt often frequented certain alleyways, usually in good neighborhoods or nearby college dorms, to search through garbage bins for reusable items. If he could not find what he wanted there, he usually straggled up a few dollars to spend at the local secondhand shop. There were more than a few treasures to be unearthed from another man’s junk.<br/><br/>His snoring did not alter or abate when Silky emerged from his bedroom. Every now and then, he shifted upon the flat cushion in attempt to find a more comfortable position. He remained still, unmoving like a corpse in a coffin. A little bit of drool seeped out of the corner of his mouth when she adjusted his head. Wyatt grunted softly and pulled the warm blanket more securely around himself; sluggishly, he tucked the blanket around himself in attempt to fend off the cold. An inaudible word of gratitude fell from his lips.<br/><br/>Nighttime passed quickly without any event of consequence occurring, unless you counted the fact that the heat mysteriously turned up a few notches sometime in the night. Somewhere, in his bedroom, the alarm clock blared into existence, capable of being heard through the paper-thin walls. It was then he wearily opened his eyes, searching blindly for his glasses which had fallen off his face. Finally, after a few minutes, Wyatt’s hand made contact with the thick frames before he situated them atop his nose.<br/><br/>Funnily enough, even after after getting some rest and a fresh mind, he still had no idea what he was doing with Silky. He was not bothered by his persisting lack of clarity. Noise from the bedroom let him know she too had risen from slumber. It was then he decided to leave the fate of their “acquaintance” in her hands.<br/><br/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;">--- [ <strong>Scene Completed</strong> ] ---</span></span></div>