Half-glass full and cynical Calista Dames can sketch out her life in a series of plans, predictions and preparations. She's the girl who knows what she's doing and where she's going, the girl with all the questions answered, the girl with a foundati...
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CHAPTER SEVEN
Bored To Death And Fading Fast
There were problems immediately.
For one, Flynn didn't have any idea where to go and secondly, I didn't either.
"I thought you knew where to go," I said as I leaned against the darkened window of a vintage bookstore somewhere in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.
"I did," corrected Flynn, "I knew we had to go somewhere in Brooklyn. This was the address he texted me a week ago. Let me call Gordon and point out our directions."
I sighed as I hit my head against the window. This was going great.
As Flynn whipped up his phone and dialled Gordon's number, I counted the number of cracks found in the sidewalks. We were in the more trendier districts of Brooklyn-the ones with declining buildings and shady neighbourhoods in the '80s and '90s until they've recently developed it into a beeping magnet for pretentious hipsters who would spend twenty bucks on anything with a label that said kale. There were some people out at this hour since it was New York but it was not terribly clogged and crowded like the movies make it out to be, filled with gangs and hookers like a red light district. Brooklyn wasn't the shady, hood slum of the Metropolitan where you were advised to go into with a rape whistle.
I looked around. There were rows and rows of rectangle terraced buildings in colours of brick red or greyish brown. Though they were different heights and colours, they were uniformed in their designs, seeming to ripple into one another with their black rusty balconies and fire escapes. Right next to the bookstore was a cafe and it wasn't fancy but even at one in the morning it was packed out- people clustering in retro plastic tables and vinyl chairs.
"He said we're at the right place..." Flynn's eyebrows knitted and put his phone back onto his ear, "I've no idea where it is, Gordon...could you come out?"
My few years of passing high school French was okay enough to decode what he basically said- persuading Gordon to come out and meet us by the streets and stuff but he spoke French? That was kinda hot.
Kinda.
Once he hung up, I raised my eyebrows. "You speak...French?"
He smiled sheepishly, "I once backpacked through the whole of Southern France...you sort of learn after three months."
"So what did he say?"
"Well, he's coming out soon."
I lowered my butt on the jutted till of the window of the closed bookshop, tired of standing, and eyed Flynn, "Well, it better actually be soon. I'm starv-"
The window rattled and I almost toppled over, jerking upright, swearing profusely at the fright: "What the-"
"Gordon!" cried Flynn, noticing a stocky figure emerging from the darkness of the bookstore and unlocking the glass door. The door swivelled open and Flynn immediately threw his arms around the other guy, knocking the wind out of him.
