[ what a fucking joke. like he doesn't know what tate looks like.
Michael shuts off his phone and heads out, just in black, the shredding on his knees ripped wider now than they were when he first started wearing these pants. He's early, by a good ten, even fifteen minutes, just because he was already in the area, and he's wasting his time waiting for Tate by throwing rocks at the dilapidated frame of the old, metal swingset. He's the only person in the park. He usually is.
He sees Tate coming, but he's still got a handful of rocks to throw, so he doesn't stop until he's up close. He pegs the last one hard enough to chip a line in the side of the frame, echoing off of the leg with a high-pitched ting and skittering out onto the dirt. Michael slips his hands into his pockets, roughing his hand through his hair, getting it over his eyes. Michael approaches Tate, meets him halfway - not nervously, because he knows Tate won't recognize him - but slowly. ]
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Michael shuts off his phone and heads out, just in black, the shredding on his knees ripped wider now than they were when he first started wearing these pants. He's early, by a good ten, even fifteen minutes, just because he was already in the area, and he's wasting his time waiting for Tate by throwing rocks at the dilapidated frame of the old, metal swingset. He's the only person in the park. He usually is.
He sees Tate coming, but he's still got a handful of rocks to throw, so he doesn't stop until he's up close. He pegs the last one hard enough to chip a line in the side of the frame, echoing off of the leg with a high-pitched ting and skittering out onto the dirt. Michael slips his hands into his pockets, roughing his hand through his hair, getting it over his eyes. Michael approaches Tate, meets him halfway - not nervously, because he knows Tate won't recognize him - but slowly. ]
TL94.