This Is Hardcore

Chapter 1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oEDB6HUgaJg

My name is Lucy Stormers. I am 26 years old, a feminist, college-educated, single-and-pretending-to-be-happy-about-it, over-scheduled, and undersexed. You buy any magazine that says 'healthy body image' on the cover and every two years you take up knitting ... for a week.

     Me and my sister Hannah run a pastry shop on Fleet Street. We sell cookies, cakes, brownies, muffins, cupcakes, bars, sticks, rolls, breads, puffs, and everything sweet. Although sweets have been an inspiration in my whole life, I am quite surprised I still don't get diabetes.

     My customers are diverse. There are the Indians who make curry at Brick Lane, the good-for-nothing kids of the East End, and the rich men, women, and guys of the Strand.

     But, no matter how diverse they all are, they all seem to react to me. They seem like they're saying, "What a weird girl." And I accept that. I don't have powers to fucking please everybody.

Hannah has been my best friend throughout the years. She supported me in all my decisions, and helped me decide them if I can't make up my mind. We fight, yes, but that's just a single dot compared to a whole world of friendship when I am with her. Hell, she even helped the shop recover from Chapter 7. (That's bankruptcy, not the seventh section of the book, you moron.)

9:00 in the morning, May 21, 2011. We just opened the shop, and all the machines start humming away, churning up dough, chocolate, and other things. Suddenly, a woman who seems to have just finished her shift as a call girl entered the shop. She is a redhead, short, wears an artificial dyed jacket, and her face is heavily make-upped.

     "Hi, my name's Sara from the Associated Press, just along the street. Can I interview you later about the current conditions of the economy?"

     Wow. This hooker's from the AP, one of the most prestigious news agencies, and she's interviewing me, a lowly store-owner across the street about how bad the economy is right now? Wow. Just wow.

     "Wow, okay. Umm, when will that be?"

     "Anytime. What do you think?"

     "Hmm, about 3 o'clock?"

     "Perfect. I'll be here later. Wait, I'll buy some, umm, garlic sticks?" (We also sell savories, e.g. fish n' chips.)

     Hannah and I started a routine we do everyday for garlic sticks, one of out bestsellers. Cut a piece of bread lengthwise, smother it with garlick and other goodies, toast it in the oven, and serve it. Hot.

     "Wow, thanks. Is this always fresh?"

     "Everything we sell is always fresh."

     "Every. Single. Day," Hannah added.

     "Wow! What about what's left?"

     "We eat them. Some like the bread without flavoring we use for other things, like, well, garlic sticks."

     "This is day-old bread?" I nod.

     "Wow! Well, I gotta go. Bye!"

     I smile in return.

What a nice lady.