[ **mood** |  bored ] So...I'm starting this Choose your own adventure...Here are the Rules...You write what you feel is necessary for your portion of the story then give options...in which case the next person will choose an option. (With a reply so that everyone knows you have dibs of the story up to that point...) then reply again with the continuation of the story, and give more options... It was seemingly enough the most delicious day that I could have ever had, except for a few of the poignant occurrences which dawned early this December. The Daily for which I work, was devising a new demographic on the streets. They wanted more enticing, dodgier stories and experiences for one of their younger reporters since they seemed on the down and outs. I put on a dapper mood and set out to try and find a tale worth writing about. As I walked into the familiar breakfast diner of my childhood days that I occasionally visited on the West side of town, I noticed it was definitely much busier than it used to be. But what was more surprising was the noise level inside; people were talking more than they were eating. And up walked a new Waitress, her name tag said Debbie, but for some reason I knew that wasn’t true...I told the host a table for one, "We don't have tables like that free in the mornins, hun. I can sit ya right now if ya want to sit at that table over there.." she said, pointing to the table in the middle of the room. It wasn’t the most interesting crowd of people I could have imagined, but I was hungry and this place had crazy, fabulous French toast. So I agreed and ordered a Cranberry juice and some coffee. As I was sitting down my ears perked up as I heard mention of the Jack Ryse Bitches, a local gang who beat up a police officer at a little league game from the stuck up soccer moms in the corner who decidedly did not belong in a diner like this. Then I looked around the table I was to spend my breakfast brunch with and took a deep sigh. To my left there was a Trucker who looked a bit too happy that I sat down, with his handlebar mustache twitching almost unnaturally. Across from me it seemed was a man, or a woman I couldn’t really tell but zhe had piercing everywhere and a very, very deep voice and a dimple of intelligence could be seen in their eyes. And caddie-corner to me was a biker who looked like she was in a hurry, but was enjoying her break in the diner too much; her dreadlocks were down to her tits, which were a bit droopy for being 30 or so... While waiting for my fabulous brunch, I thought what the hell, Lets see if any of these people know anything I could write for the Daily about, after a bit of small talk...A. Ask Handlebars McGee where he is goin and how life has been treating him...B. See if you can decipher the sex of it by talking about basketball...C. Stare at the biker until she say something first.D. Sit at another more interesting table and tell Debbie you've changed your order to biscuits and Gravy. |
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