Walking on Fire

Chapter 3

Chapter three

Julie Fescue

It had been about three and a half months since I started working at the very own portal to hell; the pig sty.

You can definitely say that things had become much easier for me since I first started working there. I do also receive tips more easily, that is, after I had had a couple more lessons from Fleur.

I learned to flaunt what I don’t have and to keep hidden what I do……..

I peered out my bedroom door into the living area.

“No Bryan, don’t leave!” Fleur yelled half collapsed to the floor.

I held in a chuckle.

To the people living next door to us, it might sound like she is breaking up with a boyfriend or something, but in reality she is just doing what she does best; yelling at the television when she is watching her soap operas.

“Did they break up again?” I asked.

It was slightly amusing how she turned around with her mouth gaped open.

“He just doesn’t understand her love!” She ran her hands down her face and sighed.

I turned back instead the room to grab my bag, “are you ready to leave? We should get going before 1pm traffic builds up!”

Fleur sighed again and switched the TV off, “Yeah just let me get my purse,” she trudged off to her room, “it’s not like the show was interesting anyway….” She mumbled.

Our work shift starts at 2pm, when the bar opens, and ends at 10pm when it closes. You might think it’s a bit early, but the owner thought it would give his bar a more “classier” appeal. The bar being named “the Pig sty” , I don’t think people will see it as classy any time soon.

Even though we don’t own a car, therefore having to walk to work, we still do need to worry about ongoing traffic in Minneapolis. While some people are eager to get home, others are barely making their way to their deep dark abyss for the next 8 hours, like us.

     The afternoon streets of Minneapolis were filled with rush hour traffic and frantic mothers off to pick up their little ankle biters from day care.

All you could hear once you stepped outside your home at this time was a symphony of cars beeping and the angry voices of money crazy taxi drivers.

As we were nearing the club, a shady looking man approached us.

“Hello young ladies! Do you have the time?” he asked while grinning.

“Sorry sir, but we do not,” I responded and we kept on walking.

He followed but walked backwards in front of us, “But I do!”  He opened up his huge trench coat revealing several watches that looked like quality products but in reality they’re probably as fake as Pamela Anderson’s boobs. 

“Ha-ha! I see what you did there sir!” Fleur genuinely laughed at his joke. She’s a sucker for things like mom jokes and pick-up lines.

I elbowed her in the rib, a thing I usually do, “sorry man, but were probably just as broke as you.”

“Suit yourself!” he chuckled as he saw a man in a business looking suit with the greased hair of a wealthy business man.

“Excuse me sir….” His approach was droned away buy the rapid city life.

The smell of fresh spray paint came from a not too far area. You got to love graffiti artists…… Most of the time they’re not really bad people trying to offend the law. Usually it’s just aspiring artists looking for a bigger canvas.