tales from the mountain top
idk what uim doing. UhghjgjuhuhhhIm compiiling all of my beeslop
khbn vhfdxcgfhA short beep sound. The rustling of fabric as he dove his hands into his pocket. Two new messages:
dood
ur hair was like, totes wack 2dae -_-
… He hated him sometimes. The boy sighs and cards one hand through his hair, knocking off his shades as he did so. The pair of already beaten-up sunglasses smacks against his desk.
Another smack! emanates from the window nearby and dear God it’s him, and he’s waving and there’s a sharp-looking sneer plastered on his face and there’s nothing more he wants to do in that moment than run up to the glass and pierce in it a hole with something. Preferably his fist. Or a sharp object. Hopefully he knocked that stupid baseball cap he wore…