Disclaimer: Rent is awesome, as is Alice. However, Alice is not awesome enough to own RENT.
"And that, kids, is the end of my lecture for today. I'm expecting that essay by next week." Dr. Marten closed. "See you next week."
Collins picked up his freakishly heavy computation manual off his lap and slammed it chut. This was his least favorite class, but he was required to take it...so he lived.
When he got back to his car, a beaten up '76 Ford, the book dropped down onto the cold, hard asphalt. Sprayed in bright red letters across both sides were the words "AIDS FAG". Anger and hurt boiled in thepit of his stomach as he picked up his book and bag and flung them in the back of the vehicle.
"Dammit..." The computer genius muttered to himself as he got into the car. "I thought this shit would stop when I got out of Mt. Cary!" He spoke of the town he had moved out of four years ago and hadn't been back since his grandmother's funeral, when he was fresh out of highschool and full of dreams. Those dreams had been dashed to peices when he found out that he was, indeed, HIV positive. His ex-boyfriend, Tristan Zembrolyn, put a pistol in his mouth the same year.
Collins pulled out of the student parking lot of glorious MIT Tech and to his tiny apartment downtown, located directly over Larry's Fish Saloon (a seafood restaurant trying to pass as Texan that constantly smelled of fish).
"Hey, Loretta. What's up?" Collins said to his landlord's wife, who usually worked the register in the restaurant.
"Nice car. Get a new paintjob?" Loretta said with a sneer, handing him his key (she held onto it when he was out because she didn't trust he wouldn't loose it.) like he was a filthy disease that she wasn't to touch or even come near to for fear or contracting it.
"Thanks, Loretta." The anarchist grumbled, walking up the stairs. This wasn't exactly his day. Face hit pillow, snore, dead asleep.
Collins awoke at midnight with a maniacal, yet devious, idea. Creeping downstairs to the closed restaurant below with a screwdriver and a mind full of unused and unnoticed skill, he began working with the various television scattered throughout the main area, intended for football and baseball watching during the workday. He slowly started dissasembling them."AIEEE!!!!" Came the crowlike shriek from downstairs that woke the computer genius from his semi-pleasant slumber. Collins' own voice on full volume was saying in a monotone over and over, "Actual reality. Act up. Fight AIDS." The anarchist smirked to himself, knowing the words were also flashing in sync on every television in the building.
A howl of laughter followed the screeching. It sounded like Larry, Loretta's husband and the owner of Larry's. He was a big, balding southern guy that was never seen without a cowboy hat and boot, but Collins felt astrange, father/son connection with this man that was so often off on buisiness at his other job that the anarchist never did find out what was.
Smiling, Collins lit up a victory joint, one of his first. The hoots of laughter and the robotic droning started blending together into perfect harmony, dancing and twirling with the cloud of smoke rising up from the makeshift cigarette. It all ended abruptly when he stabbed the drug into the bottom of his shoe.
A/N: Short chapters are what I do best. Let's have a sexy party. Darn you and your catchy music, Jeffree Star...