(Dc Jason Todd) Wrong Number

Only Amateurs Text the Wrong Number.

I didn't ever think of myself as much of anything. I mean, I was a young woman surviving in Gotham so I suppose that was something. Doing what I could just to get by, but that didn't mean much. A lot of people in this city were doing worse then me even though they might be better off from the beginning. I didn't know if that made me special or just plain lucky. I didn't really question it. I just worked.
I worked to pay my rent in my shity apartment. I worked to keep food in my kitchen and in my stomach, to keep myself alive. Given the work I chose might result in injury it was always worth the money. But then again I couldn't pay my bills with a waitress job without killing myself.

So I was everything. A bike messenger, someone who'd punch someone else in the face for you for a couple of bucks depending on what they did, a medic, anything. It would never be enough to move me somewhere nicer, but I didn't need that. Because every day was different and it was my own. Always taking a new route through the city. Seeing new people however terrible they were. Discovering good places and bad ones. Waking up early, regretting staying up too late, pulling myself from bed and starting my day.

Today there was a heat wave and I dressed the best I could for it. Tank top, leggings, my sneakers, and my bag. Sliding my pollution filter mask on before taking a hoodie on my way out and sunglasses before picking up my bike and going into the hall. Taking the steps five at time as I lept down the stair well. I loved the rush of it. So I took what adrenaline I could gather during my day to make it more interesting.
Setting my bike down and mounting it in one swift motion. Pedaling hard and fast. I didn't play music now, no I need the rush of the city to hit me. Honks, yells, and the sounds of the city around me. My breathing a slow rhythm as I narrowly escaped passing cars. When I hit the brakes it's only to stop and lock my bike up in front of a coffee shop. Like I do almost every day. I stride in taking my mask off and catching my breath.

"Milou! I got your drink right here," calls the barista and I smile as I pull my wallet from my pocket.

"Jen you're amazing-" I start to sigh but she stop me from pulling out any more money.

"Hold on, it's on me. You're always here! Take it," Says the girl. 

Her long brown hair braided and throw over her shoulder. She was a friend because I was a regular here, most of the workers were actually. But that's because I always tipped and got the easiest drink to make. A simple sweet tea. And if I ever had coffee it was a plain black coffee with a shot of espresso.

"I'm still giving you guys something." I smiled setting a bill in the tip jar. She smiled as she handed me my drink.

"Staying or going?" she asked and I sighed, leaning against the counter.

"I'll hang around for a minute or two, that guy from the other day hasn't come back to give you all trouble right?" I asked concerned and she smiled.

"I'm sure you scared him off, you completely went off on him."

"Guy's like him have no spine, you just have to show them that you do." I smiled and she laughed a little. I jumped a bit when my phone goes off and picked it up. I sigh and she hummed.

"Boyfriend troubles?" she asked and I laughed.

"No I'm happy to say I'm single. It's my client, he needs to rush the delivery he has me doing," I groan as I text back a confirmation.

"Well good luck, I'll be rooting for you," Jen says and I smile and nod as I turn away from the bar. 

Bumping straight into another customer who was coming to grab his drink. Now I wasn't surprised by that but more so at how massive he was. But I didn't get a good look at him. I simply apologized before hurrying off to my bike. But I was just left with the thought of how soft his shirt was. I need me a shirt like that.