(Just a warning, this sucks.)
Tyler had lived in Kentucky his entire life. He had known since he was in fifth grade that he wanted to move to the city after graduating high school. He was tired of Kentucky; tired of all of the farm land and homophobic neighbors. His family was real nice, and he promised them he'd visit for the holidays. Besides, he'd heard New York City got really cold in the winter.
It was July now, and he'd finally made the twelve hour car ride to his apartment building. Tyler was still eighteen. He had only graduated a month ago, and left Kentucky after spending the fourth of July with neighbors that hated him.
He was currently in a small building he'd bought online with help from his parents. He planned on turning it into a cute little café. It would be great; the walls would be a pretty pink color and there would be tasty food on the menu. He'd have to hire people to work for him, of course, but he was alright with that. He really wanted to meet new people. Tyler went to a small school in Kentucky that had no racial diversity due to lack of students. He graduated with fifteen kids.
He left his future café to start the five minute walk back to his apartment, but collided with somebody the second he walked out the door. The person wasn't running or anything, but Tyler was small and fragile. He ended up on the ground, the knees of his overalls scraped so badly they now had holes. His palms and knees stung, but he was too focused on the guy next to him to really notice. The man he ran into had very bright pink hair, and was also just as scraped up as Tyler was.
"Hey, I'm so sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going," he apolgized. Tyler was confused because he thought New Yorkers were supposed to be mean.
"Tha's alright," Tyler spoke, and was immediately embarrassed by his southern accent.
"You're not from here," the man pointed out, smiling as he helped Tyler to his feet.
"Naw, I just moved here," he explained, nervously shuffling his feet. What if this guy was a serial killer or something? Tyler's mom had told him there was a lot of weird people in the city.
"Well, I'm Josh. I work at that tattoo parlor right there," Josh said, pointing to the building next to Tyler's future café. He had a really heavy New York accent. It reminded Tyler of someone who lived in Brooklyn. Josh talked with his hands a lot and pronounced his r's softer than Tyler. It sounded cool.
"I bought this building here," Tyler told him, patting the brick wall. "Y'all got a lotta cafés 'round here?"
"Oh yeah, plenty. I bet yours will be the best, though. Let me know if you ever need help with anything, yeah? I work Monday through Friday from ten until five, if you ever need to get a hold of me. Or I could just give you my number?"
"Um, sure. Yer a real nice man. I thought y'all were supposed'ta be rude," Tyler giggled, switching phones with Josh to type his number in.
"Most people are, but not me. New York is rough, especially for pretty people like you," Josh chuckled, making Tyler's cheeks turn pink. "If you wouldn't have ran into me, I bet you wouldn't have lasted three days. These people here, all they want is to take advantage of people like you. I'll take care of you, okay?"
"Okay?" Tyler responded, not quite understanding what Josh was saying. "Yer sayin' I can't handle m'self?"
"I mean you just put your phone in a strangers hands. What if I was a thief?" Josh joked. "New York City is a jungle. This city will swallow you whole if you're not careful. Good thing you got me now, you got nothing to be scared of."
"M'sorry, but I'm not quite gettin' what you're sayin'," Tyler mumbled, picking at the loose skin on his hands from when he fell. "Are ya tryin' to say yer gonna be my friend?"
