As our pastel-blue Volkswagen tour bus pulled into the gravely road where Rosa Russo lied, John, Ringo, George, and I followed one another off the tour bus, and I pulled the door behind us shut. We started up the road, and from outside of the cafe, you could hear Elton John's new song, Your Song flowing through the cafe speakers on the cafe's roof.
"Hello Paul!" the owner Rosa greeted, a smile painted across her wrinkly old face.
"Hello Rosa! Long time no see. Me and the boys just decided to come by for a cup of tea!" I replied, happy to see my old friend Rosa. Rosa and I knew each other for a while, and as a matter of fact our mothers went to Liverpool High School, that is before Rosa moved overseas after meeting the love of her life, Nicolas. That is until, her husband Nicolas died in a horrific car accident in New Jersey.
"Hello Miss. Russo!" George exclaimed, his dimples caused by the wide-grin across his bony face. George had on this white flowy blouse and a pair of bell-bottom jeans, complete with a pair of white clogs.
"Why boys! Make yourselves at home my dears." Rosa exclaimed, pulling her notepad out of her rose colored apron with flowers, and pulling a black ballpoint pen from her long curly-brown hair.
The boys and I sat down in a booth, me and John sitting across from each other, George sitting next to John, and Ringo next to me.
"Here are your menus, what can I get you all to drink?" Miss. Rosa questioned.
We all took the menus, however we all pretty much knew what we wanted.
"We'll each take a hot tea please!" Ringo answered.
"Perfect! I'll get that right out for you boys." Miss. Rosa told us.
At this point, there was a bit of an awkward tension between the four of us, however I think John noticed the awkward silence, as we made slight eye-contact, his cheeks flushing red.
"Here you go boys," Rosa stated while handing us our teas, then walking back into the kitchen.
John laughed, and randomly began to talk. "This tea is splendid! It almost feels as if we are in England once again!"
"The mother country!" George raised his teacup into the air, pushing his floofy brown hair back with his left hand.
"Why can't we all just get along like this more often? It's exhausting to keep up with the three of you," I chimed in, a sweat blazing across my face from the tension before.
"I second that," Ringo smiled.
On that note, we pushed in our chairs, and walked out into the fresh air that New Jersey offered, and hopped back onto the tour bus.
