half-full pill bottle. beaten up guitar. porcelain clown. smells like alcohol and cigarettes in here. jorty doesn't care to clean unless he can't see the floor or his toys are visibly dusty, and even then, the work is minimal. occasionally he'll act out a scene or two with the clowns if he's drunk enough.

he wishes he had the heart to want more for himself. the stairs to his dingy apartment experiences more foot traffic than shibuya crossing, and the music is louder than ever, warranting him a stream of complaints from the neighbours. when he's sick of the routine, he takes to being reckless. set a fire, crash a car, sleep with the first person he sees. he gets home, snorts a line, thinks about the mistakes he's made and the routine starts again.