'"I don't wanna hafta give ya the menial labours, Bryan,"' she had said, through her Bronx accent. '"But if yer late again it's gonna end up bein' yer permanent job."'
He shifted his backpack, where his uniform was currently stowed, and dodged a woman jogging down the street. 'I can't seem t'stop running into people today,' he thought, remembering the altercations that had taken place earlier in the day. When they were compared, the run-in with the prick doctor had been better than his run-in with Henry. A small shudder went through his body at the memory of what Henry had done.
'Gonna need a very long shower t'night,' he thought. To be fair, he did like Henry...when he wasn't being weird as hell or perverse. He resolved to put it out of his mind for the day, though he made a mental note to be more cautious around Henry.
After about ten more minutes of walking, he arrived at his apartment building. He grabbed his mail out of the box and went upstairs and inside his apartment, number 231.
Once inside, he threw his backpack down and sat down on the couch in the dark, his eyes flicking over to the lights outside in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the traffic passing by on the street below.
At that moment, he realised how alone he actually was. Sure he knew people here but none he could call his mates. If his wife was still alive, he wouldn't even be here. He'd be home in England, with his mates, going out to a pub for the evening.
'You have to get over it,' a voice told him. 'It's been four years. You have to get over it.' He had tried, had been trying for years, but something wouldn't let him. For some reason or another, he wasn't able to do it.
'Just another thing I've failed at,' he thought, standing up. The digital letters of the clock on his DVD player told him that it was almost 11. 'Time for a shower, I think.'
(OOC: Anyone who wants to play may do so!)
Bryan left the hosptial late in the evening, after getting a reprimand from Lorraine for his lateness.