Took Gasoline down until I have ideas for it.
I'm writing a new story that I have been writing for a while and I have some pre written chapters.
Here's the intro:
Her name was Austin Miller. She was average in her mind. She had a house,A bed room with magazines piled high and her laptop on standby for any celebrity gossip.
But would a regular girl have riches galore?
A crystal chandelier hung from her ceiling reflecting light from the large window in her modern palace of a house. She had her plaques that read : best golfer of the year
as well as:
Austin Allcalla, the next golfing sensation! Her beautifully polished golf clubs were neatly placed in compartments stored inside an organizer to keep them of the mahogany floor. The famous golfer took everything that was given to her without a question and was absolutely spoiled. She might have been top 5 in her class but that didn't stop her from being hard headed. She stayed away from human kind for the sake of her well being. It was all fake and she new it.
His name was Michael Clifford.
He, just like Austin, thought he lived an average life.
He woke up.
He went to collage.
He came home.
But his home was the opposite of hers.
It was located in the slums of Dallas with a small apartment that's rent took up all his money, he didn't have extra money to spend on anything. When he had a couple dollars left to spare, he purchased hair dye as a fun expense. Buying hair bleach was almost impossible so he fished out the money to get Clorox bleach and squirted it on when he could finally by dye. His apartment had one room and he on a dirt crusted coach he picked up behind a Walmart. He knew he had it better than others.
He was a poor skater boy and she was a rich golfer. How is that suppose to go down well
