Ride or Die

Chapter 2

The day dawned clear and bright on yet another boring Sunday.

Another one of your usual early shifts at the Diner loomed over your morning. Weighted on you from the second your alarm clock rudely shrilled you awake.

You woke groggily. Eyes bleary, and blinking achy at the slanted wash of a pink dawn, streaked with bleeding strikes of orange, outside your window. You stumbled unawake to the sink to brush your teeth and then into the shower to let the warm weak spray of water liven you up a little.

You dried off and tied your brushed hair back. Bangs messy in your face. You stood at the foggy bathroom mirror and smeared a cutting shape into it with your palm. Layered on a cold layer of face cream and some minor makeup. Concealer under your heavy eyes, and a flick of mascara on your lashes to make yourself look and feel a bit more buoyant.

You pulled on your much hated uniform. The unflattering polyester-cotton blend rosy pink dress that made you look and feel lumpy. Never mind the fact it pinched at your bust and strained at your hips. And it was the largest size they had. Reminded you bitterly of yours each time you buttoned it up and felt it pinch in places.

The ugly little starched white cap you hated tying on your head, you shoved deep in your bag with revulsion. Along with the frilly little apron. You pinned the name tag on your breast pocket and shoved your feet into battered white sneakers for the walk there. Tying your watch on your wrist you walked carefully down the creaking stairs. Grandma and Grandpa wouldn't be awake just yet.

The peachy rosy sunshine just began to wash through the kitchen. Striping down on through the houses. A soft rose tinted  light spinning the kitchen to a soft lilac purple in the oncoming day.

Grandma would be up soon you just knew it. She hears the front door close when you go and then she has to be up scrubbing something or scouring the life out of the sink with thick bleach.

You head out the door. Keys cold and hard in your hand as you lock up behind you. Coming out onto the early morning street; the smell of nightly dew wet on the road and the grassy green of the lawns and trees heavy in your nose as you walk the quiet route to work, in your squeaky battered shoes.

The greasy retro diner was the furthest business right out of town. Perched on the fringes of Rusty Springs. An old fifties silver throwback of a building. Half an hours walk at the most. It had the unfortunate luck of being the closest building on the same road as the gangs compound. It was well within their stomping ground. The gang members sometimes came in. To crowd their usual booth, drinking coffee, being rowdy and scarfing down pie or bagels.

You enjoyed watching the day dilute into a bright and searing blue as you walked along the uninteresting streets you knew so well by heart. Hearing the birds chatter among the treetops and the calm pulse of small town life just starting to warm up as you walk by.

Coming to the corner to round it and see the  huge shiny silver of the diners outer exterior. The flat roofed building huddled off the street. Shielded on a road lined with tall swaying giants of dark green trees. In the dark the neon bright of the window sign,  and the comforting butter yellow lights pressing at the big glass windows of the place, is a beacon you head towards. A moth to a tacky retro flame.