Ubiquitous

Like a Kite

It all started with a fortune cookie.

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You've never eaten or bought any of those things. They don't even look like cookies! They're just brown edible envelopes with tiny papers in it which is believed to deliver true fortune to the beholder. 

But you happened to be hungry. You were exhausted from all that partying and you got a little too hungry. The closest store that's still opened is that Chinese food place. You didn't want anything too heavy, so you thought you might try out that legendary piece of food. You bought a pack with 6 of them. 

You stuff one in your mouth, forgetting about the strip of paper in it. With disgust in your face, you pull a thin and lenghty strip of paper out of your mouth. You rest it on your leg, letting it dry.

It tasted horrible, anyways. You dumped the whole bag with 5 other fortune cookies into the trashcan. You were still hungry, but before you could walk away from the store, your eyes rested on the saliva-drenched strip of paper on your lap. You carefully flip it towards the correct orientation so you could read it.

"Good news: love awaits. Cherish it while it lasts."

"If you're not buying anything, I suggest you be a pothead somewhere else."

You look up from your phone to see the owner of the record store shoo-ing a boy about your age. You're only a few feet away from them, trying to look for the new album of your favourite band at the 'Group' section. The owner is right, the dude looks stoned as hell. But he's not doing any harm, is he? You smoke, too. Just a little. Maybe not so little. And maybe you smoked some before coming here.  But that's how you get through most of your days.

"Yo, man. No disrespect, but I'm just trying to find an album, okay? A really chill one." the dude says, grinning from ear to ear. He looks happy for no absolute reason. 

"Yo, man. I don't tolerate guys who enter my shop smelling like marijuana." the shop owner says.

You ignore the conversation and avert your attention back to your phone screen. Your friend wants you to buy her an album, but she's having an incredibly hard time to choose which one she wants. It annoys you, but you're not in a rush either.

"Fine, fine. I'll get out of here. Man, chill out." the dude surrenders, walking away and laughing.

"Damn stoners." the store owner grumbles.

You stare as the dude walks out of the store and runs a hair through his short dirty-blonde hair. You have a weakness for blonde boys. And puddings. You text your friend, 'I'm leaving the record store. Will come back later when you've made up your twisted mind.'

Not feeling guilty at all, you walk towards the exit. He's still there, looking from left to right repeatedly. You lift up your hands to tap his shoulder, but you stop when you feel your shoulder being tapped. You pretend to be brushing your hair behind our ear with the lifted hand and turn to see who tapped you. 

"Anna! What are you doing here?" your friend, Felicia, asks. You wonder, why do you have to bump into this annoying human at such a crucial time?

"Well, this is a record store. So..." you awkwardly gesture at the sign.

"Duh, but you're leaving without a bag?"

"I didn't find what I was looking for?"

Your weird questionable conversation with her ends with her shrugging her shoulder and saying 'toodles'. You sigh, relieved to escape her. She's such a clam jam.

You suddenly remember why you exited the store. You turn around and the blonde stoner is nowhere in sight. Far left down the road though, you see what might be him, strolling. You correct your jacket and start walking down the same path, moving slightly faster. When you were finally close enough, he walks into a shop. Another record store.