As I step out onto the paved sidewalk, the chill of the winter air caressed my face as a mother's hand does to a child after a bad day. One look outside and I see that it's going to be a classic 'last week of winter' day with crisp, chilly air, bleached clouds overhead, your typical middle-aged people wearing hand-knit sweaters emblazoned or knit with the usual cheesy patterns of snowmen and Christmas trees and the younger crowd wearing the latest, most hideous looking parkas and down-filled vests from the winter magazines edition of Fashion Weekly's. A few glances here and there and I can tell I'm the exception- the only one without a jacket. This is winter, and ice is my element. Nevertheless, it is quite cold, I better get a move on towards a nice breakfast. I'm walking down the street as soon as I'm ready to brave the cold winter breeze nipping at my red cheeks, I start surveying every building in sight- from the common office (a clever way of making a glass enclosure look humane), to the bodega's which essentially stain the morning air with the smell of sizzling sausages and pipe smoke. I look and scrounge until my place comes into view, the runty looking brick building with a green cover, sandwiched between two high-rise buildings like one's typical middle child who had no choice but to be put in between two siblings; in other words, a hidden paradise. I sprint up the steps of the brick building and climb into the lift. I feel my ears pop a bit, and with that, the metal doors slide open and my safe haven is revealed; a cafe. The robust scent of freshly ground coffee awakens the sleeping critter in me as the overhead lights engulf me in a buttery warmth. I make the quick mistake of looking at the polished concrete floor as it jars me back to life and propels me to the barista's counter. The man taking the orders today stands behind a weathered wood counter, waiting to take my order. I don't delay in doing so. I walk up to the barista in the white shirt and green apron and quickly place my order. After settling the bill, I'm seated at a table near the largest window in the cafe. My parents and I used to come here every Sunday when I was a child, regardless of the season we would always sit at the seat I sit in now: the one closest to the huge wall-to-wall window. Through the years, I've seen this place go under renovation and remodeling, yet one thing remains the same: the view.
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Dakota Fairchild; The Vigilante's Mark
Mistero / ThrillerDakota Fairchild; an outsider at school, the social recluse. A girl who's Mother and Father 's lives have been taken by a mysterious, rather unforgiving group of established "businessmen"- a widely known and feared crime syndicate. It's up to Dakota...
