We are continuing along with Summer of History:
Saturday was gray and overcast, a low pressure system having moved in from the plains. The weather matched Ryan’s mood—bruised and livid. After Scott’s ‘make-up sex,’ Ryan had showered again and spent what was left of the night tossing on the sofa. Sometime after dawn he had dozed off, only to wake when the loft’s door had clanged closed.
He sat up and scrubbed his face with his palms. Not enough poor sleep had done little more than leave him fuzzy and irritable; it was like a wet wool blanket lay over his brain: thinking was scratchy and uncomfortable. Shambling to the kitchen, he found that Scott had brewed coffee before leaving; he’d also left a note stuck into the top of the coffeemaker. Gone to lab. Oddly, Grandville College referred to any class-related workspace as a lab; so Jackson’s studio at the college was the Life Studies Laboratory. Who’da thunk?
Hoping to exorcise the malaise from his brain, Ryan poured a large cup of the Jamaican blend and dosed it liberally with sugar and cream. He leaned against the counter’s edge and contemplated the purple expanse of clouds that obscured what was normally a really impressive view. A storm is coming, he thought. And not just out on the streets.
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‘Til next time!
Ooh, you set the mood very well. A storm is most definitely brewing.