"Just my luck," Benson said. When he trekked out to El Pollo Loco, he had no idea that he'd be down to 5% battery life on his MacBook. "Now how am I suppossed to finish the touch-ups?" Benson had been toiling away at these headshots for hours. Her name? Sarah. Her goal? Acting. Her angle? Pornos. Benson had never done photography for an adult film star before but when he saw her curvaceous figure, supple breasts and mesmerizing derrière, there was no way he could put down this stand-up. That's where they met; Laugh Factory in Long Beach. (What an otherworldly hobby for a slut to moonlight.) She paid handsomely but at a price; they'd have to be in by 9pm, New York time. And at 3 in the afternoon, Benson didn't have a surplus of time. Closing all the other programs and switching off the Wi-Fi, Benson hopped to it. But first? He was running "muy no bueno" on the saucy cilantro. Now, Benson knew damn well that some Hollywood hooligan could make off and flutter like melted butter with his Geeks R Us kiosk. So as if God played rewind on the VCR of life, Benson left his set-up while his eyes waited around on them. Some other foodies and a couple of yard workers on break were kinda peeved that he was walking backwards. But Benson was just reeling back for the inevitable; like a plunger hoisted and poised to knock out that shiny pinball spawn of the Devil. "Whaddaya want? I ain't got all--" "Cilantro sauce." Benson interrupted what sounded like a sour old manager, just waiting to get off her shift for an even worse job at Del Taco. She grunted some obscenity in Spanish, Benson took that as an "A-OK, handsome!" Sometimes the young boy would ponder about his very existence. Why was he even here in the first place... Had you tapped his shoulder, this would've been a drop-in most opportune. Why was he even in California? He had a pretty good set up in Providence. Football Father. Marmalade Mother. Brisk New England weather and bike trails altogether. Yup, he had it all in Rhode Island. But being so far from the mainland, Benson couldn't help but feel like he was barely scratching the surface of purpose. So he eloped for the West Coast. But even here, something was not right. He was doing what he loved and for the frequency that flushed, his low rates made plenty of dollars and sense. "May I help you?" A different voice struck the conversation. Benson blurted, "Yeah, I just--" but stolped short upon gazing at her immaculatr beauty. A brunette with a ponytail, she had slightly tanned skin but smooth dark blue eyes. Freckles on either side of a cute grin, subtle yet sexy crimson red lipstick on her mouth and a petite but busty figure? This chick had it all. "Except a nametag." Benson muttered to himself. Giggling, "Gigi" flashed a toothsome smile. This included a space in between her teeth. Ghastly as that was on this smokeshow dime of a bombshell, Benson was actually attracted by it. Confidently, Benson asked, "You come here often?" Her laugh was loftily lifted and lowered from the catwalks of Heaven. "No but I do frequent in this three-piece rock band." From her tacky blue and purple uniform, she pulled out a postcard sized flyer of an evil teddy bear sitting in a Victorian summerhouse; punk rock! Literally. Gigi was called by a croak I can only assume was the other woman. "I gotta go," Gigi replied. "See you later?" Dumbfounded by words, all Benson could do was nod. Which worked well, considering he got to see that confident strut off upon smiles for whiles. Swooning, Benson turned around to find his gear gone! He had bigger problems to worry about sadly. "Sigh."
