Imitation of Life

"You're late. But I'm not surprised." Joshua Mulligan smirked as he took the rubber gloves offered to him and put them on. "It wasn't my fault this time, Tracy. You wouldn't believe the traffic I had to scale through." "Well, you made it out alive. Right?" Tracy Morgan's sarcastic tone was really hard to miss. And it made Joshua grin all the more. "So, what's the gig?" He asked casually. Tracy glared at her partner for a couple of seconds, then she shook her head slightly and proceeded into the apartment. Joshua followed obediently, then paused at the doorway. It was absolute chaos in room 367. Joshua would've liked to believe that the apartment he stood in once looked like any other apartment he'd been into: a small, tidy space with a few artistic ornaments to spice up the appearance, perhaps a nice painting on the wall, a cute little kitchen probably facing the living room . . . and all that stuff. Or maybe that was just the standard look of a typical apartment

Joshua stretched out, releasing a long, tiring yawn that depicted his exhaustion. He stepped out of the bathroom and made his way to his wardrobe, walking past the large mirror he'd hung on his wall, close to the entrance leading to the bedroom. Pausing suddenly, he backtracked and stood right in front of the reflective glass. He was almost taller than the mirror stood, with the top of his blonde head most definitely cropped out. He had a muscular kind of build that was difficult to hide in most outfits, even the large ones. He gazed at the bulging veins that roped around his forearms and into his biceps, flexing them a bit for the fun of it. His head bore solid jawlines, sparse facial hair on the chin and upper lip, a straight nose, and blue tired eyes. To any beholder, they'd say he was a perfect model. To him, he reckoned he didn't look too bad, but he wasn't a hottie either. Especially now that he knew he was stressed as hell. After putting on a sleeveles

“Richard fixed his stare on his hands, fiddling with them nervously. He sat alone in Philip's office with the loud voices of children reaching him from outside. Lunch break, he remembered with a smile. He could see some students walking past the window, engaging in the most interesting conversation to them. It made him remember what it was like when he was here, not as a teacher but a student. More than thirty years ago. He barely had friends, he recalled. Most of them labelled him as weird and uncomfortable to be with. He'd soon grown accustomed to it, and even enjoyed it most times, seeking to remain on his own at every given point. That was until he met Charles Vincent in the 9th grade. It still surprised him how the vitality of the most popular kid in class back then rubbed off him. Richard the loner, being friends with Charles the Popular. A very unlikely and awkward match up of personalities. But it was real, his best moments of high school.

"Well, that sounded like fun." "It wasn't so bad, actually. But I was really uncomfortable at first." "Why? Did she come at you?" "Tracy!" Her laugh boomed through the loudspeaker, and all over Joshua's living room. He simply shook his head as his partner continued to cackle mercilessly. "You're just exaggerating," he said. "No one came at anything." He picked up the bowl on his table and guided some noodles into his mouth using chopsticks. He closed his eyes and grinned widely. It was his first taste of noodles in ages, and he never knew he'd missed it that much. He had the chef of Springs Hotel to thank dearly. And Eleanor too. "If you say so, tough guy." She chuckled. "So, are you going to tell me what you fished out, or do I have to wring it out from you?" "I thought we were going with you first." "I've already spilled everything that needs to be spilled. Now it's your turn." Shuffling sounds were all over the background, maki

“Richard stepped into the bar quickly before the door slammed shut, with the cold gust of wind following him in. He felt the warmth almost instantly, in sharp contrast to the chilly atmosphere outside. The next thing to greet him was the cool, enticing music playing in the background. He almost found himself swaying to the saxophone medley as he slowly began to walk in. The lighting was low, so his eyes took some time to adjust. Then, he beheld the scenery in front of him with fascination. Round wooden tables were placed all around, with four wooden stools at each table, all arranged in such a way that one setup doesn't bump into another. And each one of these tables were occupied with people with the need to cool off after a long stressful day. Or, probably just people who wanted to chill and enjoy the beautiful winter evening. Up ahead, a long countertop with tall stools placed in front of it; for customers who wanted drinks straight from the waitresses at the co