So I can't really work even odd jobs to get by. I can't even fucking shoplift, not that I'd really want to. Harls is working at this seedy little diner on top of the money we've nicked from her parents accounts, or what's left of it. It's been fucking months since her cards got cancelled, after all. I'm obviously busking to get extra money. No job would really hire a chick with a bum leg, unless it's a receptionist shit, stuff I can do sitting down. And that, I don't look the part. Guitar on a street corner. It's a bit nervy, what with the tall fuck having the possibility of showing up, but hell, I've done worse.
But yeah, it's been pretty quiet recently. Figures in the peripheral vision, weird dreams, being sick as fuck.... Yeah, I'm cursing a lot, sorry. It's a bad habit when I'm stressed. Which is pretty fucking much every day right now. Probably going to work on it a bit, just to make this thing more readable.
Honestly, there's a few other reasons why we're not moving more, including money. I mean, I could street it, and Harls would adapt, but I don't want her to have to deal with that. Especially with the way things have been going recently. In general, there's sometimes anywhere from a few days to a month or two between major events where life and luck decide to take a royal shit on us.
Honestly, there's not much else we can do at times beyond survive and try to get by. So that's what we do. The hotel's not that bad. We've got a tv, which is usually on when we're here, if muted. Just as a precaution... Not that it would help, but it's nice to have a little warning sometimes.
Our neighbors are already moving around. Holy fuck, it's three in the fucking morning, people! Go to fucking bed or something. Assholes.
Okay, seriously, I'm going to try and work on that, at least on here. Maybe. When I'm more rested, which is pretty much never.