Post by Lurr'n ♥ on Feb 26, 2006 12:32:49 GMT -5
They only want you when you’re seventeen
When you’re twenty-one you’re no fun
They take a Polaroid and let you go
Say they’ll let you know
So come on
It was such a shame that she didn’t know who that song was by. It was electronica, like most of what she listened to these days, but she had no idea who it was.
The young woman looked at her feet as she walked along the dirty street, realizing that all the millions of black spots on the concrete was actually gum. She sniffed the air, glad that she was finally out of the stale stagnancy of one of the Greenwich subway stations. She had to stand next to a behemoth of a black guy that smelled like he just ran a triathlon, and some old man talking to himself with a dirty towel around his neck. Needless to say, it wasn’t particularly fun.
But she had to do it, yes, she did. She was going to school in the area, despite having lived the first eighteen years of her life in the relative comfort of Charleston. It was a big change for poor Sade, coming from a little home in the suburbs. Sure she had been to the big city on many, many occasions due to the close proximity, but it was quite a different thing to live there. It seemed, though, that she was doing well enough.
With a canvas messenger bag slung over a drooping shoulder she set off down the gray street towards a Starbucks where she could sip a chai vanilla latte, iced, no ice, and job-hunt in peace. She looked up at the overcast sky and hoped that it wouldn’t rain over the weekend. John Hayashi said that it wouldn’t rain until Monday. The rain messed up her hair too. She liked it all straight and flat-ironed and all about her face and shoulders, like a lot of the kids those days, though loth she was to admit it.
Sade Hollander was a tall thin thing that comically claimed the only curves on her body came from her posture, despite the fact that it wasn't as bad as it used to be. She had a little bit of a rear, but was relatively flat chested. She had a tiny neck set atop broadish shoulders that held up a pretty face almost always plastered with a vehemently crazed expression. And when it wasn’t, it was usually a blank stare meant to warn others that her mind was either elsewhere, or nowhere, and any question they might ask would unknowingly be answered with an “uh-huh”. Today her uniform of choice was a pair of jeans that were almost a perfect fit, as well as two t-shirts, both rather tight and form fitting. The inside shirt was long and white and covered half her butt, and the one over that was of average size with a silkscreened image of four men (a minister, a rabbi, a bhuddist monk, and a muslim man) in blue on it. Her right hand, along with all of the partially chewed nails (though it was a habit that she was desperately trying to put an end to), there was a series of scars that she was obviously not self-conscious about. Sade took pride in the fact that she was in no way a girly girl and as such did much with her hands. There was a nasty burn scar on her ring finger, and one on the base knuckle of her middle finger when she split it from having too much fun with punching bag. There was also a long faint one, from when her cat scratched her as a kid (she was surprised to hear the beast was still alive from her mother). The young woman's left wrist was usually adorned with a bracelet made from ponybeads of different shapes: on one side, there were lettered beads that spelled out the word "Pilot", and directly adjacent to the almost cryptic title was a bead in the shape of a little airplane. It meant a great deal to her, and she found that very few people cared to inquire exactly why that was, but that was no matter to her either way.
Sade crossed the street and partially dodged a car before walking into the Starbucks on the corner. She yanked on the door and went inside, glad that, for once, there was no line. She crossed the floor in her slip-on shoes as they squeaked on the commercially tiled floor. The shoes were black and lime checkered at one point in history, but as with all things that she owned, -and despite the fact that she was a rather clean individual by just about anyone's standards- they got irrevocably old and dingy.
She ordered, got her cold –but not ice-laden- overpriced beverage, sat down, and picked up the local newspaper: The Village Esquire. It was mainly published for East and West Village, but with Greenwich being so close and all, it was considered local anyways.
She sipped her little trendy thing and flipped through the noisy pages of the paper, innocently lounging almost awkwardly in her chair.
Sade quickly found the listings in the rear end of the paper and scanned them carefully with earthen eyes. Noticing that she was slouching again, she straightened up in her chair, and grinned to herself as when she found the perfect job.
“Perfect!” she whispered to herself, barely audible to even her ears. Sade leaned over and scoured her bag for a pen, then proceeded to copy the number on the back of her hand, alongside a few other fading memos.
She sat and finished her drink in peace, and her eyes happened to drift to the glass doors. Sade made a made a small noise and barely scowled when she found that it was beginning to rain.
So much for it being the perfect day.
When you’re twenty-one you’re no fun
They take a Polaroid and let you go
Say they’ll let you know
So come on
It was such a shame that she didn’t know who that song was by. It was electronica, like most of what she listened to these days, but she had no idea who it was.
The young woman looked at her feet as she walked along the dirty street, realizing that all the millions of black spots on the concrete was actually gum. She sniffed the air, glad that she was finally out of the stale stagnancy of one of the Greenwich subway stations. She had to stand next to a behemoth of a black guy that smelled like he just ran a triathlon, and some old man talking to himself with a dirty towel around his neck. Needless to say, it wasn’t particularly fun.
But she had to do it, yes, she did. She was going to school in the area, despite having lived the first eighteen years of her life in the relative comfort of Charleston. It was a big change for poor Sade, coming from a little home in the suburbs. Sure she had been to the big city on many, many occasions due to the close proximity, but it was quite a different thing to live there. It seemed, though, that she was doing well enough.
With a canvas messenger bag slung over a drooping shoulder she set off down the gray street towards a Starbucks where she could sip a chai vanilla latte, iced, no ice, and job-hunt in peace. She looked up at the overcast sky and hoped that it wouldn’t rain over the weekend. John Hayashi said that it wouldn’t rain until Monday. The rain messed up her hair too. She liked it all straight and flat-ironed and all about her face and shoulders, like a lot of the kids those days, though loth she was to admit it.
Sade Hollander was a tall thin thing that comically claimed the only curves on her body came from her posture, despite the fact that it wasn't as bad as it used to be. She had a little bit of a rear, but was relatively flat chested. She had a tiny neck set atop broadish shoulders that held up a pretty face almost always plastered with a vehemently crazed expression. And when it wasn’t, it was usually a blank stare meant to warn others that her mind was either elsewhere, or nowhere, and any question they might ask would unknowingly be answered with an “uh-huh”. Today her uniform of choice was a pair of jeans that were almost a perfect fit, as well as two t-shirts, both rather tight and form fitting. The inside shirt was long and white and covered half her butt, and the one over that was of average size with a silkscreened image of four men (a minister, a rabbi, a bhuddist monk, and a muslim man) in blue on it. Her right hand, along with all of the partially chewed nails (though it was a habit that she was desperately trying to put an end to), there was a series of scars that she was obviously not self-conscious about. Sade took pride in the fact that she was in no way a girly girl and as such did much with her hands. There was a nasty burn scar on her ring finger, and one on the base knuckle of her middle finger when she split it from having too much fun with punching bag. There was also a long faint one, from when her cat scratched her as a kid (she was surprised to hear the beast was still alive from her mother). The young woman's left wrist was usually adorned with a bracelet made from ponybeads of different shapes: on one side, there were lettered beads that spelled out the word "Pilot", and directly adjacent to the almost cryptic title was a bead in the shape of a little airplane. It meant a great deal to her, and she found that very few people cared to inquire exactly why that was, but that was no matter to her either way.
Sade crossed the street and partially dodged a car before walking into the Starbucks on the corner. She yanked on the door and went inside, glad that, for once, there was no line. She crossed the floor in her slip-on shoes as they squeaked on the commercially tiled floor. The shoes were black and lime checkered at one point in history, but as with all things that she owned, -and despite the fact that she was a rather clean individual by just about anyone's standards- they got irrevocably old and dingy.
She ordered, got her cold –but not ice-laden- overpriced beverage, sat down, and picked up the local newspaper: The Village Esquire. It was mainly published for East and West Village, but with Greenwich being so close and all, it was considered local anyways.
She sipped her little trendy thing and flipped through the noisy pages of the paper, innocently lounging almost awkwardly in her chair.
Sade quickly found the listings in the rear end of the paper and scanned them carefully with earthen eyes. Noticing that she was slouching again, she straightened up in her chair, and grinned to herself as when she found the perfect job.
Employees Needed
Local petshop located in West Village looking for employees to fill morning shift. Part-time and full-time. Must get along w/ animals! 063-3481-077
Local petshop located in West Village looking for employees to fill morning shift. Part-time and full-time. Must get along w/ animals! 063-3481-077
“Perfect!” she whispered to herself, barely audible to even her ears. Sade leaned over and scoured her bag for a pen, then proceeded to copy the number on the back of her hand, alongside a few other fading memos.
She sat and finished her drink in peace, and her eyes happened to drift to the glass doors. Sade made a made a small noise and barely scowled when she found that it was beginning to rain.
So much for it being the perfect day.
