((Just going to make posts in world and then paste them here for this thread. More for my own amusement than anything. Won't hurt my feelings if they are too long for people to bother with reading XD))

Marco was sat on the counter in the kitchen of the house he had recently bought with a few others. Mostly because it reminded him of the not so distant past that he regarded as one of the very few good periods of his time here in this backwater place that could barely be called city. He was tainted now though. So there was no use in leaving. The windows were open behind him, grateful he had at least picked a somewhat peaceful part of the town to live in. Nothing but neighbors he never saw and water.

Smoke from the cigarette he held in between two of his fingers drifted outside. Same brand he had been buying for years, ever since he picked up the habit after moving here. In the other hand was a glass, full of his other vice whiskey. And by his side was a bottle. The only reason he drank from a glass was to convince himself he was drinking in moderation, and therefore didn't have a problem. He'd switch between taking a drag and a sip. Like the world's slowest and saddest juggling act. Soon at least half of the act was over. The cigarette was finished off and he'd toss it out of the open window behind him before rising to his feet. A glance was offered to the windows as he pondered closing them. Then he'd just mutter a, "Fuck it."

The glass still occupied one hand and the empty had was soon filled with the bottle. Bare feet began to care him out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He wasn't wearing anything but what he thought were swimming trunks. Simply because they were clean. Another fuck it moment led to that choice. Once he made it to the top of the stairs he rewarded himself with a sip of the whiskey, then proceeded down the hall towards Fiona's room. Her door was open but her light was on. He glanced in and noticed her passed out in her bed. She was one of the few people still willing to be around him for more than a few minutes at a time. Which meant she was also one of the very few Marco cared anything about. He didn't linger in her doorway for longer than a few seconds before the light was turned off and her door was pulled until it was barely open. Before he headed to her room, he stopped at Barley's. Which was really the attic. He climbed the ladder, making the choice to leave his whiskey at the bottom. He noticed her up there too, one of the rare times they were both off of work. She was asleep as well. Another one of the less than handful of people that he cared for and that seemed to do the same. At least in her own way. He climbed down the ladder, retrieving his glass and bottle before he went into his room, closing and locking his door behind him.

He took a seat at his desk, pushing aside his computer to make room for a blank legal pad he had just bought on the way home from work. A pen was grabbed and he began to write. "Not sure where to start with this thing. Saw a shrink before I left Madison after mom died. My sister's idea, but out of my pocket. Didn't really talk to the doc. So she suggested I just start writing. Thought that was just all bullshit. Time to find out. I'm starting to slip again. Drinking more. Smoking more. Sleeping less. Living here causes the smoking. Work causes the drinking and staying awake. This wasn't my dream. Used to look up to the badge. Now it's just a burden. A paycheck. An excuse. Seems that all I do now. Make excuses. To other people, and to myself. About why I am the way I am. Why I push people away. Why I stay alone. It's what I find works though. Keeps me alive. Keeps me content enough. Don't see a reason to change. Tried not being alone. It's not for me. Been engaged, and dated too much to remember names. Nothing ever comes of it. I either make them leave or this place does. I'm rambling now. That doc was probably wrong about this after all."

Then he'd abruptly stop writing. He wouldn't admit it to himself but it was because he was acknowledging, or at least starting to acknowledge, the way he felt. He didn't wanna go there. So the pad was taken off the desk and he'd stuff it into the one drawer he could lock, making sure to do so before he got up and walked over to his bed, drink in hand. He sat down and finished off the glass before laying down, and passing out so that he could go back to work again tomorrow.