Rock Me Softly

Rock Star Crisis

"Mommy! There's a hobo in the playhouse!"

I jolted awake at the sound of a little boy's screams. My eyes shot open and I stood up. Which was a bad idea, because my head hit the short, playhouse's roof. "Ow, shit!"

"Mommy! The hobo's cussing at me!" The boy screamed again, looking at me with wild, scared eyes.

"Shh, I'm not a hobo." I said, gathering my stuff while rubbing the top of my sore head.

"Mommy, the-." I placed my hand over the little boy's mouth and if possible, his eyes widened a little more.

I lowered my voice and leaned in closer, "Listen kid, my head hurts, I'm hungry and you're pissing me off by calling me a hobo. Now beat it before I eat you." I lifted my hand off of his mouth and he was gone before I could blink.

"Mommy!" I heard him cry and I chuckled. Kids.

I walked to the woods behind the playground and layed my stuff behind a tree. I figured I wouldn't be finding a lovely abode any time soon, so I just left it there for tonight.

Safe to say I wasn't going to school today. Mom's going to be pissed. Which is why I didn't go to the hospital straight away. I went looking for jobs once again.

First stop, the movie theater.

I walked up towards the manager's door and knocked before entering. "Hello? Sir?" I said, sticking my head. A bald, plump man looked up from his papers before grunting, "What?"

I walked all the way in and shut the door behind me, nervously playing with my hands. "I'd like to apply for a job here, Sir." I said.

The man looked up and gazed at me from head to toe. I was starting to get more nervous when his gaze lingered, if you know what I mean, when he spoke and said, "No."

My heart dropped.

"N-No? May I ask why, Sir?"

He burped loudly and I flinched. "You look young. What are you, fourteen?"

I bristled at his question and replied, "I'm eighteen." I know I'm a little short, but come on now.

He shrugged, "Same thing. You have to be twenty-one to work here, we sell alcohol on Saturday nights."

I gaped at him, "That's illegal!" He shrugged again.

I realized I wasn't getting anywhere with him, so I just walked out of the door without another word. The nerve...

I should report him. But I had enough shit to worry about, already.

I stopped at the local clothing store. Another restaurant and a gas station, all of them with the same answer. No.

I was about to give up when I looked up and saw I was on the university campus, in front of a coffee shop with a sign that read, HELP WANTED.

Bingo.

Whispers could be heard about my clothing and stench as I walked through the throng of college students.

Did she not bathe? What the hell is she wearing, her shirt is ripped all too pieces! She looks like a cheap stripper.

I realized what I must have smelled and looked like for not bathing or changing in two days. I looked down at my shirt and saw it was indeed ripped, right below the shoulder blade almost exposing my bra. They was right, I looked like a cheap stripper.

I walked in the shop and was immediately hit with the smell of coffee grinds. I inhaled as much of the delectable scent as I could before walking up to the cash register.