Emo took a long, slow drag off a cigarette, before blowing the smoke slowly out in a heavy sigh. He stood in the stoop of the doorway of his employer, Cold Subject, listening to the low-thumping bass that played out of the loud speakers within the shop. He had finished his shift, with his spirit all but sucked out of him. Just another day in the grind, losing the best years of his life in the machine. The days were nothing but a blur, the nights were dull, and Emo found little pleasure in the routine his life had taken.
Sometimes he wanted to just walk away from it all.
However, he still needed a roof over his head, still needed food on the table, and he was no thief -- at least, he wasn't a good one. While he'd shoplifted small novelties readily enough as a hoodlum punk during his youth, these days, Emo found little allure in what was there. He'd rather money for concerts for his beloved bands, as well as his makeup, and his clothing collection.
Life, of course, was nothing but pain and hardship -- and though he begrudged it, there were small moments of absolute pleasure and delight. The downside was finding those pleasures on the regular. Taking another dragon his cigarette, he crossed his arms, leaned against the wall of the building, and watched the people as they passed. Nothing but cogs in the wheel....
Bah.
There had to be something more than this mundane routine.