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Room 304, Thursday Night
Mar. 2nd, 2006 09:37 pmAfter the newspaper meeting and dinner, Angela sat down on her bed with her door propped slightly open, a bottle of cranberry juice on her nightstand at her side.
Next to the juice, there was a brownie. It was a little smushed from spending four hours riding around in a backpack, but it was still all dense and moist and full ofTHC chocolate.
Angela took an experimental nibble. Then another. Eventually, the whole thing was nibbled away, and washed down with half of the juice.
About 20 minutes later, Angela suddenly realized several things, all at once: the Flaming Lips were the greatest band in the history of, like, ever. Her ceiling had some interesting swirls in it that deserved her deepest contemplation.
She accidentally knocked the last of the juice onto Min, and the cat's deeply offended yowl and flight under the bed sent her into several minutes of quiet laughter.
It was a good brownie.
[OOC: Door's open, yo.]
Next to the juice, there was a brownie. It was a little smushed from spending four hours riding around in a backpack, but it was still all dense and moist and full of
Angela took an experimental nibble. Then another. Eventually, the whole thing was nibbled away, and washed down with half of the juice.
About 20 minutes later, Angela suddenly realized several things, all at once: the Flaming Lips were the greatest band in the history of, like, ever. Her ceiling had some interesting swirls in it that deserved her deepest contemplation.
She accidentally knocked the last of the juice onto Min, and the cat's deeply offended yowl and flight under the bed sent her into several minutes of quiet laughter.
It was a good brownie.
[OOC: Door's open, yo.]
