𝙲 𝙷 𝙴 𝚁 𝚁 𝚈

01

TUESDAY

1:32 PM

SANTA CARLA

NOT FROM AROUND HERE

The mention of the inadequate habit of chainsmoking that I developed just as a young girl, often spitting like venom from the mouth of my boresome principal and his disciples, irks me rather blatantly. Two of my fingers snake around the bitter delicacy of a Marlboro cigarette, face baking under the golden gleam of the early afternoon sun, and a woman of no younger than forty years shot daggers into my left temple, undignifiedly. I had made a note of her visual appearance when I first boarded the coach, just like I always do when I am around other people; Plain face, box-dyed brown hair, and thick, black sunglasses on a long bridged nose. The shorts that she is wearing are pastel blue and stumpy, thick arms protrude from the brown vest that is wrapped around her upper body. It is odd, a woman of her generation speaking so poorly to me, rather than simply dismissing the fact that I was an adult woman, simply smoking a cigarette after a long, continuous journey. My eyes remain on the gas station ahead as she continues to spittle at me.

"Children like you should be ashamed of themselves. You are all exactly the reason that our generation is going down in flames!" Her voice is courageous, though the screech in her tone is pitful and painful to listen to.

Again, Ignore the speech that she was giving; it is clear that she is searching for a reaction from me, though I do not care enough to give it. She continues to speak as I puff away at my cherry-flavored stick, "Are you listening to me?! You are smoking at a gas station!"

I keep my right leg angled, my converse-clad foot perched on the wall behind me, and still, I don't care enough to say a single word in response. My eyes shuffle along the silent road just after the gas station where I am stood and over to the opening of what appeared to be a circus and to the left, there are several shops; perhaps suitable for a new member of staff. There are small, possible family-run, coffee shops; aligned with further quick food stalls and down at the very end of the walkway, a store label pronouncing Atlantis Fantasyworld comic book shop, in big red letters. My curious, but too fond, thoughts vigorously interrupt when my fingers move and the woman beside me throws my leftover Malboro to the ground and stomps on it.

I turn my head slowly in her direction, eying the reddening of her angry face through my Ovza's before speaking to her for the first time in a disinterested voice, "Lady, You're really bumming me out."

Her eyes widen beneath her own sunglasses, though her reaction again is dreary, and I grip my worn-out canvas bag from the ground and begin making my way across the street. Her keen, sharp voice begins again but takes away in the wind as I get further away and angle myself towards the cafe titled Ben's getaway coffee. My eyes adjust to the overpowering crowd of people and the movement of the rollercoaster above; I turn and push my way into the medium-sized cafe where I am hit with the smell of different meats and bread. A balding man with skin stained red moved around behind the counter before looking up at me over his sunburned nose, "How can I help ya?"