Behind the Lens

Chapter 1 - Coffee

Sophia's POV

Celebrities thrived in Los Angeles; rich teenage kids could live out the dream, and older adults could retire to stick their feet in the sand. These three types of people cycled through my job each day. I worked as a simple coffee barista throughout the day and owned a small old laundromat on the side. It used to belong to my great uncle, who gifted it to me when he died.

I packed my bags into my beat-down van and left my tiny Oklahoma town when I received that letter. It went against my parent's wishes, but I had a different life planned out for me than they wanted. Although L. A wasn't the place I had in mind. It'll do.

The cost of living is high in LA, so the spare change I had managed to scrounge up during my high school years was worth about three weeks of rent. Initially, the laundromat wasn't up to code, with leaks, rotten floorboards, and out-of-date equipment. That's when I picked up the barista job to help with rent and restore the laundromat to a booming business.

I can proudly say I'm a proud 20-year-old business owner a year later. The laundromat, or mat, as I like to call it, earns me about 3,000 per month. Just enough to stay afloat in this expensive city, maybe spoiling myself with a new shirt now and again. I guess you could say I wasn't homeless, but I was riding the struggle bus.

Currently, I am in my tiny apartment getting ready for work. I stared at my clock, which read 5:45 AM, and groaned. I pulled my hair into a simple ponytail and put on some heart earrings I had snagged from the coffee shop lost and found. Call me a cheap ass, but I consider it thrifting. I grab my apron and head out the door without bothering with makeup.

The walk to my work is a brisk 10-minute journey, and there is not much to see besides my fellow working class and the occasional homeless man. If I'm fortunate, some hungover bastards will be waking up in front of the bars or getting kicked out. It sucks for them, but it's good morning entertainment for me.

Sometimes, I wish it was me, though. I can't help but think it must be nice to go out with friends and get drunk. Dancing in a crowd or screaming a song in the club, waking up and doing it all over again. But that's not a lifestyle I can even financially support.

I think a part of me feels better about seeing other people wake up in pain from a night out or realizing they lost their wallet because I'm able to laugh and convince myself that partying isn't all that. I'm like, totally, definitely NOT missing out on my 20s...

Or anything.

I shake away my thoughts as I see my coffee shop's sign come into view. The words Hazel View are lit up in a vintage font and hang from our shop window. The story behind the sign is cute; the old man who owns this shop had a wife with Hazel eyes, and after she passed, he opened this shop in memory of her. It's a heartwarming story.

"Finally, you're here, Richie!" Kordell, our cook, called out to me.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get your panties in a twist," I rolled my eyes.

"You know I can't prep the coffee alone, and the espresso machine scares me." Kordell faked and whined. Despite working in the food industry for over 20 years, he was a late middle-aged man who couldn't seem to prep a coffee station by himself. He wouldn't admit it because Kordell likes playing the role of the grumpy old man, but I secretly think he acts like he can't prep the coffee to make me feel important. It's silly, but that's what I like to think.

"Wow, how are you going to be 55 and scared of an espresso machine?" I laughed and began my cleaning duties to open the shop.

"Brats these days and their mouths..." Kordell mumbled to himself while going back to baking muffins.
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David's POV