Mason Adler is a rich boy, too well developed for his own good. His parents being the well settled, striking pair of a lawyer and a doctor, raise the standards when they move to a new block in the higher circles of the Upper East Side, where the hou...
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The sky was too bright to stare at. Though the air was chill nine below zero Fahrenheit but the sun was shining high enough to blind any sights that dared tackle it. He fixed his grey beanie and plunged his teeth in the middle finger of his thick but hand fitting, brown leather gloves. Using a bit of force, he pulled it off and tucked it in the pocket of his puff sleeveless jacket. Shuffling through his iPhone, he searched for any upbeat songs to help him fight through the rest of the driveway covered in a thick layer of untouched snow. The layer glittered under the rays of light directed for his way. His sunglasses were being a pain in his eyes, intensifying the already growing headache so he'd thrown them over the hood of his car parked inside the empty garage. His brother's and both of his parents' cars were missing. Brother was already off to work and dear Mum and dad to their respective jobs as well.
His fingers were already turning red as he swiped through the bright Spotify screen and grinning at a playlist created by Spotify, suggesting his taste. Carry On My Wayward Son by Kansas started on and he bit on his bottom lip, setting his thick black beats on his head and trying on his glove again. Picking up the shovel, he moved the blanket of snow, almost wishing to leave it that way. Dipping down, he stabbed the shovel by the edge and started scooping a thick layer of it before tossing it aside in the thick and empty flower bed. As the song finished, he waited for the next song to hit the air but his ears were filled with a rumble instead. He looked up and surveyed the three other large mansion size houses around the circle of his block. All these mansions stood around a fountain in the middle that was dead with piles of snow collected on each of the five levels of it. It was shaped like a large pine cone and the shape only shaped out properly when the snow filled the spaces like clay on a sculptures.
Legends Are Made by Sam Tinnesz started playing and echoed the beats in a tremble in his ears. He licked his lips as a black Mercedes pulled up by the driveway of the lavish brown mansion right across from his, opposite the fountain. It had three black gabled roofs. Two smaller ones on each side, standing cuboid towers up with a giant one in the middle that made the main middle of the stunning building. One of the two large black garage doors opened but the car paused right by the driveway, instead of speeding on top of it. The snow was left untouched entirely and there was a silver sports-car parked that he couldn't distinguish the model of from such distance. The driver's side of the car popped open and a slender figure walked out. Thin legs, upholding a thin torso. Head covered in a red beanie and high top black boots up to the shins. By the figure, he could guess a woman and the leather snow jacket she wore came down to right above her hips, letting her black pants shape her bottom. Her head turned and he noticed a glimpse of her face. The distance was too great to shape her features but he was sure that she stared directly at the sun. Shuffling through her jacket, she pulled something out in her naked fingers and he was confused as to what she was doing until a puff blew out of her mouth. It wasn't the regular condensed vapour of the air around, it was a vape. He could see the brick of its source. Leaning by her car, she puffed at it and he shook his head.
