Blog 11: You dont know what you got till its gone...

Today was Devon’s one off day of the week, and he intended to use it usefully. Sometimes, and very rarely (at least for Devon) a life change is so big, so monumental, that one has to commemorate it. So Devon chose to get a tattoo. He hadn’t very many tattoos, but Devon decided that in his new “altered state of mind” he would tattoo a saying on his chest to remind himself of....something. Devon really had no idea what saying he wanted, but he knew he wanted a tattoo, and he wanted it today. Perhaps to him it was more about the idea that getting a tattoo represents, Something that is everlasting and a part of the body, the soul. A physical representation of conscious and unconscious thought. The whole thing to Devon was brilliant, and as he was riding the bus to the tattoo parlor, he kept thinking of the different ideas he wanted to represent with words on his chest. Finally, when Devon got there and talked with the artist, he had a good idea of what he wanted inked on his chest. The phrase was this: “what i was made for.” To Devon it was like a half completed thought, almost a question, stating his belief in the development of the mind, the change it goes through, and the positives and negatives that the spirit experiences as a person lives their lives. It was around 2:30 when the artist was done with Devon’s tattoo. 

He decided to go see Bill, the local psychiatric doctor. He never felt the need to see those kinds of doctors (Devon called them shrinks, as do a lot of people in England) but he felt that this time if he wanted to make a permanent change in his life, he was going to need some help. So around 4:30 Devon found himself in Bill’s office setting up for an appointment with him the following day he had free. He notice man in the waiting room who looked obviously angry and upset about something. Devon started for a second at the man, trying to remember his name. It came to Devon after just a few seconds. It was Cleake, and he didn’t look too happy about seeing the shrink. After a minute the Doctor Bill came out and spoke to Cleake briefly, then walked back into his office, leaving an almost relieved looking Cleake rushing out of the office. Devon didn’t think much of it, and went to get some ice cream before relax back at his apartment with his nifty new computer. 

However, when Devon arrived at Castle Apartments, he wasn't exactly ready (given his current happy mindset) to hear a murder. It was Cleake for sure, he recognized the voice from Bill’s office. He heard the screams and the angry laughter, and the almost eerily still silence after the kill, so quiet it’s almost too loud. The murder was only just down the hall from him. He could not place the screams by voice, he only knew that when the body bag rolled by his door, with Devon peevishly peering through his peep-hole in the door that it was Sile N'Bhroin. 

It was that night that Devon thought reflectively through the past year at his stay in Castle Apartments. Most of the years were boring, pointless, they blended together to form a singular figure of black and white. This year was different. This year, for Devon at least, was change. He finished his cigarette, tossing it stories below; went to his bedside and took out a small notepad sized paper and pen. The words he wrote down was this:

And they say we will never
Make it out alive,
But i wish you well
Tell me where,
But I don’t know
Where we are going.

He taped the small piece of paper on the wall behind his bed, stripped down to his boxers, got into bed, turned off the lights, and closed his eyes.

Blog 10: Because things are the way they are, things will not stay the way they are.

Devon’s radio shift had been a long one. It was almost midnight when Devon closed the door to the radio station that evening. He stood outside for a second, contemplating on nothing, staring into the black distance of night. He lit a cigarette. Devon inhaled deeply, and let the smoke wisp slowly from his mouth. He felt like changes were in the air, like something big was about to happen. He checked his watch. It was exactly eleven o’clock. “Wasn’t there some children’s book about 11?” Devon pondered this thought for a moment, and took another deep drag of the cigarette. “OH!” Devon exclaimed out loud, “The Eleventh Hour! I remember the book.” The thought of that book and childhood gave him a brief moment of satisfaction. Another change that had been happening to him. He seemed lately to be more open to himself about his childhood. John had said that letting go had never been easy, but now Devon found himself letting go of John. “It’s odd,” he thought, “ That the mentor, the teacher, ends up being the one thrown out at the end.” The thought was not selfish to Devon, almost as if he knew his teenage mentor and friend and wanted this all along. “How Cliche.” The idea amused him for the first time. Almost like the movies. Devon chuckled and started walking toward the diner, hoping to catch a late night meal before turning home for the night. He didn’t feel the need to drink, he didn’t feel the need to be angry at everyone, to walk by as a passive, not as an active.

Blog 9: Leaving sex to the feminists is like letting your dog vacation at the taxidermist.

As devon was being creative (remember his new obsession with making music) he was strangely dreaming about taking a vacation. The thought struck him as so odd he wondered what was happening to him.

“Am i losing it too just like Pink?” thought Devon to himself.

 Perhaps though, in his current state of mind, he was ready for a change or sorts.

 “A vacation would be a nice divulge from the current monotony of Castle Apartments,” Devon thought to himself, “I fancy a beach of sorts.”

Devon continued to piddle away on his new laptop for a while, dreaming of a beach houses with beautiful women serving him sweet drinks. The thought of a beautiful woman stopped him cold in his thoughts.

“When was the last time i had a girlfriend?” Devon said out loud in his room.

He thought of the different women he had seen that lived in and around Castle Apartments. He didn’t really fancy any of them, but he didn’t exactly not fancy them either.

 “perhaps i should try to be more social, more out there.” Devon thought. “I sometimes do get tired of living in my head. A life change? Ah well...”

 There was Spring Patterson, she was alright. Lucy Collins and Kindra Lee were also possible options. Devon had never been particularly good at talking to women, he needed practice. Most people get that kind of skill in highschool, but judging by his highschool experiences, the practice he received was close to null. Deveon knew he needed a change, but he wasn’t sure about how to go about it, or whether other people would accept his change as well.

Blog 8: How to drive a guy crazy: send him a telegram and on the top put 'page 2.'

Devon had surprised himself today. He did what most people thought he was incapable of: being spontaneous. Devon had bought a new laptop today, the nice and expensive Apple Macbook. He had got a new one partly due to the fact that his old one was barely able to play anything on youtube or load facebook without it taking minutes to load, but also (as part of his spontaneous streak) he had wanted to start producing music. He had done some research on what he needed to start producing, and the main thing was a faster computer and a keyboard, so he went out and bought one. He didn’t quite have the money on hand to buy everything he needed, so he went and did one of those down payment/monthly plans to pay for it. One early cloudy morning (he had woken up slightly earlier to play around with his new toys) he heard a loud banging from upstairs. He knew that the late great rockstar Pink lived in the room above him, but he rarely heard any noise above, or for that matter, noise from any other room near him. He felt lucky to have quiet neighbors. Devon heard another loud thud but a shout was followed by it afterward. Feeling bored and noisy, Devon decided to go up a level to see what all the commotion was. Devon took the elevator up, and when the door opened, he heard an authoritative voice go, “It’s the police...open up!” 

This made Devon halt in his tracks and wonder if he should really proceed out of the relative safety of the elevator. The man shouted again, “Open up!” Devon wondered if Pink was ok, and if he should go and tell the man shouting into the door that sometimes loud noises coming from a rockstars room may not be all that out of the ordinary. Just as Devon had made up his mind to leave it alone, He heard 3 loud bangs and a shout having to do something with ghosts. Devon rushed out of the elevator to see three large policemen crash into the room. It was only about 30 seconds later when the police pulled pink out of the room. He was shouting something about a father floyd and ghosts and three pigs. The police pushed past Devon dragging Pink in the middle of them. He was shouting something about flying in 1979. “The man has finally lost it,” said Devon grimley in his head. The policeman and rockstar conundrum were in the elevator, and the door closed on a shouting Pink. The whole situation had oddly affected Devon.

He stood there in the hallway for a minute, silently reflecting on the events he just witness. Inside his head Devon decided to name the first song he made using his brand new computer Pink Flying Ghosts. The name struck Devon with some pleasure, and he called the elevator.

Blog 7: The future ain't what it used to be.

Devon awoke suddenly, and wished he hadn’t. His dreams, if he had any, were often centered around his past, rather than his future. Devon often wondered why people have deja vu, for it never happened to him. He lay in bed, attempting to clear his eyes of the annoying morning haze, but failed; and scoffed at the thought of being able to predict the future in his dreams. In his usual lethargic and sour manner, devon rolled his skinny frame out of bed, and looked at himself in the mirror next to his door. To Devon, it was unclear what exactly he was looking at, but it it wasn’t the room behind him, and he certainly wasn't looking at himself. Sometimes Devon felt that, in the mirror, he could see all the different people he wanted to be standing just to the left and right behind him, with his real self at the forefront. It seemed like the metaphorical Devon’s standing beside him were like outfits in a wardrobe, you could put on whichever outfit you wanted at anytime, to hide real person, the naked person, inside. To Devon though, everyone was naked, many years of looking into the mirror taught him that. He often wondered how easy it was to strip people completely of their outfits, and expose them for who they really are.

John had taught him this, his main abuser during his younger years in England, he lived on the street that divided two gangs in the slums of london. directly across the street from his house was one gang, and the side he lived on was the other. Devon however, being the young kid that he was (and given the fact that his parents were raging alcoholics) any time spent out of the house was time well spent, even if that did mean his daily beatings by older teens who liked to impress the girls with their skills in throwing a fist or two at a seven year old kid. Perhaps it was these daily beatings that made Devon tough, perhaps not physically, but mentally, because he learned that if he didn't scream in pain, he would get hit more and harder till he did, but if he screamed too much, he would get hit harder so he would shut up. From this, he learned how to politic situations while he was in pain, too think only to protect himself, and not anything else. Looking back, Devon knew that John had helped him, helped him realize the secret to people, the key to life, the key to surviving the next day.

“We are all piranhas,” Devon said quietly to himself. He took one more glance at the mirror, and was on his way out the door and into the kitchen to find himself a small bite to eat before work, but realized that he had been standing there for almost 15 minutes; and made a beeline toward the bathroom.

Blog 6: A man is never drunk if he can lay on the floor without holding on.

For the life of him, Devon had no idea why he was there. “Oh, right.” he thought, “The liquor store.” That last thought trailed off in his mind, like i wisp of cigarette smoke. Devon, who could neither be described as being an an avid drinker or a strong believer in the, “Drinking is bad for you” idea; he did on occasion like to get drunk. Rays Liquor store was the only liquor store in town, and its prices were neither good or bad. It was more the selection that mattered to Devon. “They have a nice selection...” thought Devon in his head, again his thoughts drifting off in the end. He giggled and burped cheekily at the end of his liquor induced humor. Today was Devon’s day off from work. The asshole Leon was well, who the hell knows where, maybe running the station, maybe not. This thought usually would have made him grimace in annoyance, maybe mutter a curse or two under his breathe, but otherwise continue on with his (as he thought) boring existence. But seeing as Devon was drunk, he tossed his bottle of off brand whiskey into the street with such gusto that it narrowly missed a car driving past on the road.

Devon got up from the bench outside Rays Liquor, and fumbled awkwardly in his back pocket for his wallet. He checked his wallet and too his dismay, found he was out of money. With the thoughts of Leon and the Radio station wisting somewhere in his drunken and jumbled brain, and the thought of being without any money, he started to walk angrily across the street. His angry progress however was halted by a curb, which because he was drunk, proved to be a much tougher obstacle to navigate. He tripped stumbled and fell all in what seemed to be one singular movement, and fell spread eagle (and almost face first) in the left lane of Sobchak street. Devon’s daze from the fall turned quickly from confusion to disappointment to anger, and then as he got up from the ground, pain. He had scabbed he knees and the bottom of his arms, and his back hurt from the fall.

“Fuck this!” he shouted, and stumbled across the rest of the street and toward the roller skating rink.

It was not a particular busy night out, but there was some activity going on around him. His shout had drawn more than a few glances, but people for the most paid him no heed, passing him off as the town drunk (he wasn't) and went back to whatever they were doing before. He continued his long drunk journey across the street (he almost fell up the curb) and through his drunk haze, he found that he was between the roller skating rink and walters lanes. He looked around, and notice someone standing there, not five feet away, having a smoke. Being drunk, he decided that he wanted a cigarette (he rarely smoked) and approached the man standing there.

“Hey, you m-m-mind if g-g-get a cigarette?” he said to the man, stumbling over his words in a drunken drawl.

the man turned around and looked at him, reached into his jacket pocket, and proceeded to pull out his pack. Devon approached the man and as he was about to take the cigarette from the man’s hand, he misjudged his distance from the man and stumbled crashingly into him. Both of them fell, with much yelling and arm waving, and they landed somewhat together, somewhat separate on the ground.

Devon was no both dazed and scared. In his drunken state, he decided to get up and run as fast as he could before the other man could get up off the ground. The fall however had made there various valuables fall out of their pockets, and Devon, not really thinking about what he was doing, rushed clumsily up onto his feet, picked up a phone that looked like his, and a wallet that looked like his, and dashed off down Sobchak street and tuned left at the intersection of Benson street, making a beeline toward castle apartments. 

Blog 5: Whenever I have a bad day I just think of these people.

It was Christmas time, and Devon hated christmas. Perhaps it was because of his religion (or lack there of) or because he was a grinch, or because he just hated the meaning of it all; Devon abhorred Christmas. It was the 22nd of December, just three days before the holiday that Devon hated most happend. It was not a good week for him, and indeed, maybe even not a good month. It was one of those times for him where little things add up to big things, and he just ended up being more pissed off than usual. At least more than his face could hide. He never understood why people were so happy during the Christmas season. He knew it wasn't for the meaning of the actual holiday, it was because people got free shit.

“Yea, free shit.” he brooded to himself.

“The last time i got free shit was......too damn long ago to remember. I’ll just go and have my fun. As usual....”

But it was Devon’s fun that got him into trouble. As his inebriated state caused him a dangerous slip on black ice while J-walking a crossing, which caused to him to be clipped by a passing car. Devon only suffered minor cuts and bruises, but they still hurt, even to him. Devon, the person who when someone asked him, “How are you feeling today?” he responds with, “Not much.” and actually literally means it. Devon was angry at the stupid orphanage kids who would go door knocking looking for money they know no one has. Devon was angry at the weather, he hated the cold, and it hated him (which in his mind only made things colder). Between the cold outside, and his self fulfilling prophecies of things being colder in his mind, plus the general coldness Devon exudes as his “natural” personality, things were pretty much cold as fuck, bleak as hell, and shittier than the worst Mcshit storms.

“It could be the food.”

Devon again thought to himself. All the vendors had of course started selling Christmas oriented food, and what’s worse than literally having to swallow what you hate most in the world. The blind guy was still playing his annoying songs (Devon hated “A Christmas Carol” the most), and Devon wasn't getting very many requests during his shift at the radio station, because all people wanted was christmas songs, and all Devon chose to play was death metal. The only thing Devon found remotely appealing and funny during this time was Ryan’s brush with death, which he found (somewhat narcissistically) funny.  

Blog 4: I would imagine that if you could understand Morse code, a tap dancer would drive you crazy.

Devon never had a need for a car, his reasoning being that he liked to walk as much as he could, though in reality (the idea which he kept shut at the back of his mind) was that he really couldn’t afford one. He remembered, when he was younger, that he used to be very much attracted to wealth, and in his youthful days, there were many posters of expensive cars and attractive girls that only the most wealthiest could afford. This last thought traveled through Devon’s head almost remorsefully, and the whole idea angered him. “How,” Devon wondered, “do people manage to remember their younger days with longing and sadness? The only thing thats sad is the innocence of it all. Naive, that's what it is. It’s the age where everything is forgotten and everything is forgiven. No living with the consequences, just plain stupidity!”

Devon continued to fume at his own thoughts, and his anger only made him more angry. He was only beggining to calm down when he came upon the entrance to castle apartments. In his anger, Devon had somehow managed to turn what usually is a good 15 minute walk into a brisk 7 minute jog. He was breathing heavily, perhaps due to the fact that Devon almost never worked out, but more likely that he had been a cronic smoker for the past 16 years. In his sweaty state, he huffed his way ungracefully through the main office and into the elevator. The elevator was horrible slow, so by the time it arrived at Devon’s floor, he had almost caught his breath. He slowly padded his way on the old stained carpet lining the floor to his room door, when he stopped short, and noticed two people standing close around his door.

The thought and the action happened in slow motion, the action being slightly ahead of the thought. Just as Devon realized who the people standing at his door were, they had turned around and noticed him. Both parties added 2+2, the reaction of Devon being an internal groan, and the reaction of the two people at his door being of surprise and happiness. Devon stood there in the middle of the hallway not but 20 or so feet away from his door, while the 2 man party approached him quickly with smiles on their face. To the movie critic, the whole scene could have come out to something along the lines of Jaws and Alien vs. Predator, only that the Aliens had joined the Predators. The alien and the predator were jehovah witnesses, and they were approaching him like a shark does when it senses the smell of blood; Devon being the poor, hopeless person in the boat waiting for all hell to descend on him. Perhaps this situation may not have been as bad for others, but Devon absolutely hated religion. Maybe it was because when he was younger, he was rejected by a girl that he fell in love with because she was christian and he wasn’t, or maybe it was the many religious lunatics he had encountered on his many tram rides in england to his school, but either way, Devon despised every religion and every aspect of that religion. To say he was an atheist was an understatement. Devon knew he had a couple of options to select from. He could either listen to what the jehovah’s had to say (that wasn’t going to happen) reject them politely, or reject in the rudest way he could think of. However, they were upon him, and Devon, who was very non confrontational but didn’t mind a good fight, selected the middle option, and when they had begun their sales pitch, Devon politely interrupted them, and told them he had a son that was sick and he desperately needed to tend to him. This of course was a lie, and Devon finally made it to his apartment, and shut the door soundly.

Devon had learned that to be a good liar, it's not so much what excuse you come up with, but the expression and tone it is said with. Devon sat down in the one chair that occupied his apartment, closed his eyes reached for a cigarette, lit it, and took the nicest drag of his life. It had been a crazy day at work, not so much because of the music that was played during his shift, but because of the many announcements he had to make during his broadcasting time. First he had to make an announcement about the occupy group in the field behind the parking deck (they were getting rowdy), a health announcement about the swine flu (the clinic reused the needles in giving the flu shots) the fire at Rue 21, some useless play at the sawmill theatre, and finally the ill timed block party at the roller rink. Devon laughed inwardly at his own pun, and then remembered that someone had invited him to the block party. It was Leon that had sent him the invite, and the party was only in an hour, so devon rushed to take a shower and put some slightly nicer clothes on. Devon then hurried out of Castle Apartments, and walked to the block party. When he got to the roller rink, many people were already partying (things were starting to move into the streets) and Devon, being the unsocial animal that he was, found a beer and began to walk around looking for leon avoiding as many people as he could, but still eavesdropping on many conversations. People were drunk of course, as some were talking about a UFO in the woods or robbers who would only steal left shoes. He found Leon and maybe because they were both a bit tipsy after a couple of beers, they managed to at least not be at each other throats and have a decent conversation. The party was still going close to 11 o’clock, when the sky opened up, and everyone scattered to the nearest form of shelter. Devon was drunk and didn’t really care, so he walked home in the almost monsoon type rain, questioning the point of water and why it existed at all.

Blog 3: A Blend of Roast Coffee and a Morning Mix

After a long night shift at WTF, Devon decided that he wanted some early morning coffee. Feeling glad that it was a 24 hour shop, Devon road the #17 bus to the corner of H St, and just as he was reaching for the cord to tell the bus driver to stop, the bus stalled, blocking traffic making poplar effectively a one-way street.

Devon, nonplussed, got off the bus and wandered slowly over to the coffee shop entrance.

"Hummph." Devon said to himself, "of course I would pick the morning that everyone else would want coffee too." Perhaps his disgust was due to the fact that many people at the coffee shop were not only people that recognized by name, but by the fact that he didn't like any of them. Lucas Shaffer, Otis Baumer, Syrius Hawkins, Xaiver Holland, The Detective, Spartacus Moore, Cleake, Abigail Watson, F. John Jeffery, and Evie Jakyl; they were all here.

Devon, minding his own business, went into the shop and hear that WTF was the radio station playing on the overhead. Realizing it was the morning mix, Devon instantly remembered the playlist for that morning. 

"On Melancholy Hill by the Gorillaz, there there-Radiohead, Mr. Blue Sky (ELO), 4:33 (John Cage),  Wannabe - The Spice Girls The Wall by Pink Floyd," thought Devon.

Devon, somewhat proud of himself for thinking of a such a good mix to play, especially giving this morning events, bought a Venti coffee. Realizing that somehow a good halfhour had been lost, Devon decided to go home and get some shut eye before his evening shift at WTF started again.

Blog 2: Man is a reasoning rather than a reasonable animal

Devon, being a man of unflinching silence and passiveness in the face of most any social situations, kept quite to himself as he stood alone on poplar, facing directly across from the clinic. Staring off into the distance with no real articulate thought flowing through his mind, his gaze was interrupted but the mumblings of an old man across the street.

"oh." thought Devon. "Its the old crazy man again."

He sighed, somewhat sadly and somewhat exasperatedly and beamed a pointed glare at the old man, hoping in vain that the old man would notice him and stop his annoying and senseless babbling. On an rare whim, Devon decided to cross the street and approach the old man, curious (only out of extreme boredom) as to what the old man was actually saying. Devon walked toward the old man, with no pace or intent in his step, not an emotion traceable through the eyes and face; and no sound was made as his leather dress shoes contacted the cold pavement beneath. It was not until Devon was almost arms length that he stopped to the side of the old man, and a few things struck him immediately. First was the smell.

Devon thought to himself, "He could at least do to clean himself up a bit. How in the hell does this man expect to get any money from begging since people will be afraid to get within 15 feet of him because of the smell!"

This however was quite paradoxical to the life style choices of Devon himself (remembering the kitchen situation described earlier).

As clearly suggested by his thoughts, Devon was an extremely cynical man, Not prone to much higher thought processes rather than his immediate needs (food, sleep, money, music, etc) Devon felt no compassion for this poor old man.

Devon (again, not one for social interaction) stood there, staring at the old man for a good 20 or so seconds until the old man turned toward Devon and said in an old, aged, and weather beaten voice,

"What will come will come.  Even if I shroud it all in silence."

This struck a chord with Devon, and it made him think. He felt like he had heard such a statement before back in high school over in England, something about plays or poetry.

"Ah!" Devon exclaimed, excited that he remembered something. "Thats a line fromm whacha-call it play...the...the...Oedipus Rex! Thats right, its from that Greek play, Oedipus Rex!"

Quite unaware that he had spoken out loud when he thought he was just thinking it, Devon stopped abruptly in his excitement and looked around at his surrounding rather aquwardly. It was dark now, and Devon checked his watch, and noticed that his shift at the radio station was coming up in just 15 minutes. The only reason Devon looked forward to being the DJ after Leon was that he didnt like Leon. Devon felt that as long as "that idiot Leon" wasn't working, things were better off for the radio station and for him. For the life of him, Devon cant remembered why he hired Leon. He guessed it was during his first few months as boss, and 100.4 WTF was starting to fold under because, well, no really listened to the radio station. Pledge drives were painfully slow and unrewarding; and advertiresers sometimes refused to put there ads on his stations channel, citing that the reason was,

"why bother. No one listens to your station anyway."

Devon again sighed (rather loudely) and noticed that the old poor man was starting to walk away from the bench he had been sitting at, by the side of the clinic. The old man had his walkman in, and Devon, being the DJ that he is, instantly recongnized the song.

"Bob Dylan." Thought Devon. "Simple Twist of Fate."

While Devon didnt like the song, he didnt dislike it either. Regardless, Devon still thought it odd that an old poor man would have it on his walkman.

He decided to blame it on Leon.

"The idiot is always playing songs with heavy introspection. I hate introspection," said Devon in his head, walking briskely toward the radio station. Checking his watch one more time, Devon noticed that he had 3 minutes until rotation, and he would be on for a good part of the night.

Blog 1: A New Day...

The day started with two loud noises. The first noise was the sharp ringing of Devon's alarm clock, and not a moment later, the second sound followed suit with a loud crash. The loud crash in question was in fact Devon's Devilishly large hands connecting smartly with the then unsuspecting alarm clock. Considering that Devon had followed this alarm clock without falter for the past 10 years, one would think that the alarm clock would have eventually acquired the knowledge that if it wanted to stopped being smacked at 6:30am each morning (except Sunday, as Devon was surprisingly religious given his profession) that it would just stop ringing altogether.

With many huffs and grunts, Devon stretched jerkily and waddle quickly into the bathroom. His early morning constitution over with, Devon then proceeded, without much grace, into the adjoining room, which happened to be his sparsely stocked kitchen. One could easily get the impression that Devon was lacking of female presence in his life. When one counts the out dated milk gallon and the never cleaned coffee machine and the dishes from last week, one could also assume that poor Devon was not as organized and on top of things as one might initially expect.

A 10 year resident of Castle Apartments, he was only well known in the building for two reasons. reason one: in Devon's entire 10 years spent at Castle Apartments, he had never missed paying the rent. The second reason that Devon was known was because he was the only one in castle apartments, and in fact the entire town, that spoke with a British accent.

Indeed, Devon was British, having grown up in Newcastle during his childhood, but just before he left high school, his parents moved to the States, leaving him to finish high school on his own. He did, but without much gusto, never went to college, choosing instead to pursue the life of drugs and music. He made a decent living being a DJ in the UK, but eventually got bored with it all and moved in with his parents Stateside. His parents quickly threw him out and left him with little pocket money. Instead of flying back to Britain like his parents strongly suggested, he instead opted to see what options might await him in the Land of Opportunities. Accordingly, he moved into Castle Apartments and and soon became the DJ for the town radio station, 100.4 WTF.

Moving back into the present space, Devon sighed as he saw the outdated milk, but no cereal to go with it. After exploring his food options by flinging open empty cupboards, he soon assessed that there was indeed no food in the apartment, and that before going to work, he needed to take a short stroll across the street and down Brownstone to the local grocery. Going back into his sparsely furnished bedroom, Devon thew on some clothes over his relatively slender and cylindrical body. Taking a quick glance out the window before he left his apartment, he notice that it again was another sunny day that was most likely swelteringly hot. Hoping that it was not the case he rode the elevator down from his top floor apartment (number 779) waved unvaryingly at the front desk guard, and proceeded out the the double doors of Castle Apartments and into the blaring hot sun.

Taking a quick glance and noticing a smell that he could not place, ran quickly across the street. Even though the sun was out, drivers at that time of morning are still angry at having to be up at that time of morning, and seeing as Benson Street was the main way through town, drivers tended to zoom by without abandon. Having made it across the street, Devon took another look around, a small bead of sweat dripped down his nose.