S P I D E R M A N - H O M E C O M I N G
"Are you trading government secrets for pizza coupons?"
"If I was-which I'm not, but like if I did would that be bad or...?"
[ HOMECOMING & CIVIL WAR ]
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-July 28, 2015-
"You mess up this delivery and you're fired."
The man before me didn't look me in my eyes. He scoured beyond me, hooking my soul with a simple gaze to display himself seriously.
His hands gripped the sides of the pizza sleeve as his jaw clenched. "Understand?" He gritted, not appreciating the stoic expression gracing my face.
I peeked from hooded lids. My hands went out of there way to grab the stacked boxes from his hold. "Chill out. I got it covered." I spoke with as much reassurance as possible. But guessing by his furrowed brow and flared nostrils, he was far from convinced.
Why he was so concerned was oblivious to my being. I'm delivering two meat lovers pizzas, not the queen's jewels. It wasn't like I'd done anything extreme to loose his trust anyways. A few parking tickets, late drop-offs, and a couple red lights being ignored isn't enough to push his buttons. Not from me anyways.
While I walk away from the counter to leave through the employee exit in the back I'm reminded of how strange the store manager is. The sole fact that employees aren't allowed to call him anything besides his nickname, 'Dino the Bambino' speak for itself in volumes.
His burning gaze ruffled my backside through the glass door as I tied the order to the tail of my motor bike. There wasn't much I could do besides quickening my pace with a grimace.
The new scare tactics Dino's been testing out on the staff seems to be working in his favor-although it's rubbing off more as disturbing than scary.
You'd think for a man his size and brute he would have less of a struggle gaining respect. But one thing Dino Gaurdioloa isn't is intimidating. From our first encounter he released a kindred vibe, something I realize he can't control. It's refreshing to everyone around him, a complete one-eighty compared to the normality of the solemn attitudes. It made him likable.
It also made him a pushover.
Revving the engines, I sped the bike out of the parking lot and rode the dark streets. My attention lingered to the street lamps and buildings that set the scene for the concrete jungle, rather than the actual road. I braced the singled slices of harsh wind and passed by cars enduring the traffic that accompanies the city's night life. The absence of a helmet made the experience all the more exciting, unlike my destination.
Tourists who come and go are right when they claim New York City to be special. I wouldn't go as far as to call it the place where dreams are made of, but it has a knack for coming to life when the sun goes down.
I parked the bike borrowed from my brother in the lot of a motel and skipped up the staircase to the second floor. Normally, the occasional music from clubs nearby, giggles of teenagers making bad decisions, or venders selling their products-follows close by. But I realized from my many times visiting, the Mona Motel was a relatively quiet place where stray dogs barking was the least of your worries.
