[Richie doesn't get into the car so much as he rolls into it. Still a mess of too many years, long slacks, and sneakers like he was young. No sense of fashion or decorum whatsoever.
It's easy to follow directions, and the driver gets the address like he's had a half time of rehearsing it.
He's spent the last several weeks of his life taking drunken cab rides home and he knows enough to shut his eyes, not look out the window or try to focus on anything too closely. He didn't want motion sickness to set in and when they arrive at his place he thanks the driver and passes him a tip of whatever cash he had in his pocket.
His apartment isn't glamorous, not like one would expect for a comedian that was somewhat successful in today's social climate. He waits up only for a second to make sure Eddie's still with him and fumbles with his keys at the door. There's no deadbolt system, no way to chain the door off so when he does get it open it swings inward and reflects the way he'd been as a kid. There are some framed band posters, vintage, on the wall.
Everything has a place, except for the rolled-up bills on the coffee table and it's clear to anyone semi-aware of Hollywood and its lifestyle what it had been for. There's really no smell either, it's all dark tones mixed with bright bold colors and out of habit, he takes his shoes off on the way inside.
Richie pulls off the sweater and his t-shirt in one fell swoop. His hair is stuck from the static, standing out at different ends. Richie's still pretty blown, but no longer stumbling.]
no subject
It's easy to follow directions, and the driver gets the address like he's had a half time of rehearsing it.
He's spent the last several weeks of his life taking drunken cab rides home and he knows enough to shut his eyes, not look out the window or try to focus on anything too closely. He didn't want motion sickness to set in and when they arrive at his place he thanks the driver and passes him a tip of whatever cash he had in his pocket.
His apartment isn't glamorous, not like one would expect for a comedian that was somewhat successful in today's social climate. He waits up only for a second to make sure Eddie's still with him and fumbles with his keys at the door. There's no deadbolt system, no way to chain the door off so when he does get it open it swings inward and reflects the way he'd been as a kid. There are some framed band posters, vintage, on the wall.
Everything has a place, except for the rolled-up bills on the coffee table and it's clear to anyone semi-aware of Hollywood and its lifestyle what it had been for. There's really no smell either, it's all dark tones mixed with bright bold colors and out of habit, he takes his shoes off on the way inside.
Richie pulls off the sweater and his t-shirt in one fell swoop. His hair is stuck from the static, standing out at different ends. Richie's still pretty blown, but no longer stumbling.]
M'Gonna get in the shower. Make yourself at home.