Thallow Flats

After losing the game of roulette, Edwards walked out of the shading gambling ring saddened. A piece of news paper blew onto his shoe, about an incredibly cheap housing deal in America. Earl though this was fate and immediately found a ship to hide in that was heading to the new world. Earl awoke and found himself still on the ship and expecting to see a majestic view soon discovered that the new world had the same problems as the old world. Sir Edwards was not amused.
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Edwards crept into his room with the war journal he had just gotten from some owner or worker of the bookstore, he just as soon forgot their name as he had learnt it. Edwards was not a man to remember people's names, it was tedious task that he took no pleasure in.

As he opened the door Roger was sleeping on his bed.

"What in God's name are you doing here? Don't you have your own bed to sleep in? How did you even get in here?"

"Well, I don't personally own a room, and also you left the door open when you rushed out to go somewh--- Say, how was it?"

"Was it what?"

"You know, out. Mingling with the people. Meeting the citizens. Interacting with the---"

"I get your point roger. It was fine, now please leave."

After Roger was gone, Sir Edwards opened the War Journal and begun to examine it. He wondered why a book store owner had this, but he thought nothing more of it.

Expecting to find a lovely depiction of heroic escapades, he was immersed in the dirtiest trench known to man. Everybody in the trench had some sort of sickness. Some people suffered from mustard gas, others feet were in a most gruesome condition, and others had ghastly wounds bandaged up yet were still in the fight. Edwards at that point vomited a little in his mouth. He never realized how terrible war really was. While the rest of the world had been making laws so that terrible weapons could never be legally used, and created decades of anti-war films, Earl was in his little world reading novels romanticizing such acts.

How Scrant read tons of war novels but never once came across books such as All Quiet on the Western Front was a mystery in itself.
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Scrant walked into the Rare book shop and slammed the journal on the desk. He started to scream at the worker behind the desk, but his screaming made him sound like a nervous chicken bent on world destruction. He looked pathetic, and made an ass out of himself.

Scrant didn't feel comfortable anymore, and began to feel increasingly violent. He noticed a dirty Italian immigrant strolling on the sidewalk and kicked this man in the back of the knee. As soon as Edwards noticed that this man was stronger than him and very angry, Edwards engaged the "Russian Winter Evasive Maneuver" and ran as fast as he could to his apartment. Earl tripped up the set of apartment stairs and fell down into a wall. Edward arrived back at the world's dirtiest trench. A whistle just blew, signaling another pointless charge into the enemies trench. "Crap", thought Scrant.

Apartment 205

Sir Edwards did have an abundance of wealth. He was living a good life until he thaught it wise to risk most of his money on the chance that a miniscule metal ball may possibly roll into a slot on a spinner. Yes, reader, you guessed it, Sir Edwards went broke on roulette. Sir Edwards had been living in the apartment 205 for 5 years since he had to leave the rich life. Thankfully he wasn't in debt to anyone, just flat broke. But Sir Edwards still held something above these poor cretins: Culture.
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Sir Edwards put down yet another novel that he had fiished and threw it into the pile to be burned for warmth. Sir Edwards hadn't payed the heating bill since last autumn, and suffered through last winter like a rich man without money. Earl decided that he would go out today, but not after a glass of wine from a bottle of the family's wine collection that he managed to take along with him. Immediatley as he opened the door, Roger immediatley appeared again.

"I'm really quite busy actually today, I actually have plans."

"Plans? I'm astounded really, is it a rocketship flight to the moon?"

"No, seriously I am going out."

Sir Edwards walked past Roger, turned the corner and in the corner of his eye saw that Roger had vanished. Sir Edwards thought nothing of it and decided to find something fun to do today. Earl left for the tavern that he had heard about when he first arrived from the Superintendent Frank.
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"Is there any decent place to get a drink here?"

"Decent as in cheap but poor quality, or decent 'you won't die of alchohol poisining ' decent?"

"Just where?"

"Just across the street. Remember monday is 'leave-your -wife-and -degenerate-sons-at-home-happy hour'."

"Um...Sure."

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Sir Edwards approached the grimey building and wandered inside. The trails of ciggerate smoke climbed into his nose and refused to leave. Earl immediatley ran out and clutched a brick wall, gasping for air. He coughed as the exhaust of a bus jumped into his lungs, and noticed someone walking to the back of the tavern. He heard the familiar sound as this man opened a door; the clinking of clay. Earl went to invistigate and found a backdoor poker game; the holy grail of seedy gambling.

Earl sat down at a table with 9 other men, one introduced himself but he was a twenty year old kid so Edwards payed no mind.
Sir Edwards was the only one able at the whol table to accumalte most of the money on the table in under an hour. Sir Edwards was also the only one at the table to lose such a chip stack in twenty minutes to the kid that had introduced himself.
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Edwards soon would take out yet another player, when he was playing the person that introduced himself. They were playing 5 card draw. Edwards had a two pair and bet all his chips on it to force this person out who had been playing garbage consistently. Little did Edwards know that he had trips. Earl just sat there and watched as his clay beauties were taken away from him little by little; the fall of a Roman Empire.

Scrant Earl Edwards

Sir Edwards was of one of the richest family in England. Now his family riches have been reduced to a dilapidated apartment on the second floor of some building that he'd rather not talk about. Maybe it was unfortunate fate that his parents had one too many drinks at their numerous dinner parties, and maybe forgot that Sir Edwards existed, and maybe took 5 years until they named him, named him Scrant. Or maybe it was that his parents' car met the end of the ravine and it's name was instant death, and then he had to take care of himself at age 23. Being educated only on the life of welfare and parties, Scrant immediatley fell in love with culture. But fell a little too in love with books of heroes, drinking, and gambling. You should call Scrant Earl, he hates Scrant.
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Sir Edwards was immersed in a war. He had just been drafted and had no time to bid farewell to his fiance. Edwards was about to board the train to a world full of deadly green gas when he heard a dripping. Edwards looked up and saw that the Upstairs apartment floor was seeping water onto his recently polished floor. He sighed got up and began to attempt to fix the crack, Edwards hated this life. Roger was sitting in a corner as if he had always been there.
"What do you want at a terrible time like this?"

"Personally, I'm Bored Scrant, bored to the bone. What happened to the lively, the reckless Scrant? Now all I do is observe you entranced by a cheesy novel about some war. World War I is over, but you aren't."

" First, Nobody calls me Scrant. Secondly, I have no money, and besides what are you doing here anyways? You know as well as I do that you do not have to be here."

Sir Edwards woke up, and Roger had apparently left. He checked the time and left for the battlefield.