"No, that's not what happened!" Mark said, as they passed beneath the street lamp's sulfur glow.
"Man, then what did happen?" Johnny said sullenly, kicking a rock ahead of him.
"I'm pretty sure that after the cops left, Meredith tripped over a rock and vomitted in the bushes. She was so wasted."
"Yeah," Johnny replied, suddenly entranced with his feet.
Those feet had been a lot of places they shouldn't have, he thought. And now, they were carrying him aimlessly down a suburban road. Aimless, but not directionless, he specified. That was important.
He stopped walking. Dreamily, he reached both hands up to the washed-out sky, stretching and yawning.
"Oh no..." Mark's voice trailed off as he caught his friend's movement via his peripheries. It was going to be a long night.
Boredom isn't a disease, not really. It doesn't infect, doesn't spread, doesn't incapacitate. Not really. It agitates, though. Oh yes, does it ever. People have been searching the universe for years, looking for places to put their boredom, keep it safe while they let their minds wander, eventually returning to that place. So boredom isn't really a disease. It's a compost heap. It's the medium from which diseases grow and spread. It's a sepid pond where any innocuous little step could mire you down. Johnny didn't so much walk into it as swan dive.
He sidled up to his friend's mind and gave it a polite little shove in the right direction.
"What are you thinking?" Mark asked, both wary and excited.
"Let's start some fires," Johnny said with the shiteatingest of grins.
And they did.
.how to walk. by zoogal (source image)
Boredoms by shoofle