He walks, silently at first, but quickens his pace. There's someone – possibly something? - after him, he knows it. Soon there's just a couple more blocks… now run! And… He's back at the apartment… huh?
"Hey Ross!" Joey says. "Why were you running? Afraid of the dark? Aww." Joey goes and hugs Ross, with a sarcastic "It's okay."
"Get off, Joey! I'm not afraid of the dark!" Ross then turns around and curses himself silently for being so stupid. Idiot, he tells himself.
"Hey, want to come to my place? We're gonna watch Bay Watch!"
I can't get a break, can I? Well, there was that break with Rachel…
Ross chuckles, remembering his whole episode with "We were on a break!"
"Huh, no." he replies, a tad more bitter than he meant.
"Well, suit yourself…" and that's when Ross realized that Joey had been holding a meatball sub the whole time, for he took a monstrous bite and waved his greasy, garlic covered hand and walked away.
"Wha-" he started to say, but shook his head remembering that it was Joey he was questioning.
Joey Tribbiani. Dr. Drake Remoray. Three-down, but the most childish person he'd ever met, even on kid standards. Albeit having a woman in his room every other night, and renting porn a lot, his childish-ness still lurked and out-ruled it.
Sighing, he walked into the building and took the stairs to his floor. He opened the door to his apartment and walked inside, jumping on the couch and flinging his shoes every which-way. What a long day at the museum. People asking a billion questions, kids touching and ruining the fossils, rearranging the displays and arguing with some paleontologist wanna-be about the Paleolithic era.
He switched on the television to find Days of Our Lives re-runs playing.
No… no… no… no… no…, he murmured when he switched to a different channel, always finding boring shows.
Ah, the Discovery Channel, perfect for a tiresome day.
Across the street in Monica and Rachel's apartment, said girls were wrestling over the pots and pans.
"Rachel! You know you can't cook for crap!" Monica shouted.
"That's what a cook book is for Monica!" Rachel shouted just as loud.
"Yeah, but that's for people who can read!"
Gasping, Rachel pulled with all her might and got a big brass pot out of Monica's grasp.
"Ha!" she yelled victoriously, holding her prize high above her head.
"Fine, you can cook your own dinner, but I'm going out." Monica swung the door wide open, and left to go to Central Perk.
"I can to read," Rachel said, tears forming dramatically in her eyes.
"Okay, pick a number out of six through thirty four billion." Phoebe said to Mike, her fiancé.
"Alright, um… one hundred million, three hundred twelve thousand, five hundred sixty one."
"… you got it!" Phoebe said, handing Mike yet another five dollar bill. He had already gotten twenty five dollars from her by guessing the right number. She had, however, unknowingly whispered the correct number while he guessed.
"Well, I think it's safe to say that I am psychic." he told her, jokingly. Being the person she was, she took him seriously, and nodded in agreement.
"Come on, it's time to go to bed." he told her, and headed for the bedroom.
"Right behind ya." she said, and winked as in you-know-what-we're-going-to-do wink.
"Time to take a bath… ta-time to take a bath… whoocha!" Chandler sang, dunking the duck in the bathwater for roughly the twentieth time.
The chicken walked in then, with his usual head-bobbing movements. He then clucked his nonsense chicken chatter.
"Yep… I know…" Chandler said, agreeing that he had no life whatsoever.