Snippet #2557915

As predicted, he woke up early. He was able to sneak into one of the stores before many people were out. Although he got a horrified look from the person manning the register, he didn't say anything to Roman. He washed quickly without looking in the mirror. While he was changing, he looked at where the knife had cut him. It wasn't as deep as it had felt last night, which only made him feel pretty weak when he thought back to how much it had actually hurt. Somewhere in his bag he had enough wrap to tie around his waist. Once he finished up, presumably looking less like a zombie and more like a human being, he uttered a thanks to the still silent cashier and left.

The previous night proved restless. The smallest sound stirred him into an anxious frenzy and even being awake didn't prove to settle his nerves any more. The day passed as he did, moving from place to place as that was the safest thing for him. There were a few ways to make money in NYC. The people here, most of them at least, were idiots at best. They could be conned easily if they really weren't expecting it so he sat in Central Park for most of the day, watching people go by. After must observation, he figured out the right people to approach, most of them giggling teenaged girl. He would pretend to be passing until he bumped into them, grabbing their hand and acting as though he recognized them. If they were holding onto something it was better because he could cause them to drop it. As they both stooped down at the same time, the girl typically not realizing he was still holding her wrist, he'd undo her watch and put it in his pocket. Once this became too risky, he played the part of victim, going up to strangers saying he was robbed. Asking for nothing more than train or car fare, it proved effective. After a couple of people, he'd gotten a bit of money, but no where near what he wanted to pay.

This took the bulk of his day as he had to make sure he approached the right people. Knowing better than to pickpocket and go to a pawn shop immediately after, he went to Canal Street to sell his stolen goods. The place for notorious for its knock offs and counterfeit items so it was the perfect place for him to go. The day had begun to settle when he cashed everything in. Somehow he'd managed not to be caught. The thought of skipping time was seeming more enticing as the day went by. He returned to Times and disappeared in the quite, which for once was quite comforting. As he walked down the street, he realized just how hungry he was. The last time he ate was at Finn's the previous evening. Although his stomach churned and twisted at the smell of roasted nuts and greasy hot dogs, he chose to ignore it. Roman made his way to the warehouse one he realized how close he was. It was then that he decided the best thing for him to do would be to leave. At least for a bit. If Nick was there then fine. He'd just get his things and go; there shouldn't be any drama over that.

He returned around three-thirty in the afternoon feeling as though he was trespassing. A sense of relief flooded through him and he realized he'd been holding his breath, but once he saw that Nick wasn't there, he exhaled slowly. His side was left untouched. If anyone else was there, he remained quiet and refused to meet there eye as he knelt next to his former spot of the warehouse and began to look for the rest of his things.