#ecmstarter

     Dexter was on the floor tonight at The Coral Casino, and his plan for the night was just to circle, show face, and ensure everyone was doing their job. Being suited up was probably his favorite, so Dexter walked around with his head held high, making sure the night ran smoothly. A few hours into the evening, he noticed this woman in the crowd, dressed to the nine’s in a red cocktail dress, so short she was having trouble moving without giving everyone a show. He’d seen her once before in his casino, and the last time, she was kicked out immediately. Baffled how she’d managed her way inside once more, Dexter was determined to take a different route this time, not really enjoying that an escort got past security again. 

40% off ALL lamination services. In-store only. It’d been telling her to print off the coupon-- but how could she print off the coupon when she didn’t have a printer? Why’d they think she was making the forty-five minute trip to Office Depot in the next town over? Gas mileage? 59 cents for flyers was all good and fine-- did the math in her head. A grunt, when she remembered the extra $2.49 for lamination (without the discount) (without the god damn coupon) per print. She wasn’t driving all that way without an insurance policy -- August meant it was close to Fall, and beaches weren’t all sunshines and rainbows -- rain, rain, rain. And when it rained on Lina, it poured. So they had to be laminated, and she had to spend two week’s pay on gas and paper and printing and laminating and -- and oh Christ, (forgive me Abuela) while she was at Office Depot she grabbed a new printer. Wireless. Something that wasn’t made in 1998-- for crying out loud. An extra week’s pay gone.

Today had been a hectic day at The Hut and the day wasn’t even half over yet. There had been a party on the beach, some sort of birthday or congrats party. Something of the sort where it was a bunch of rowdy people who wanted to get shit faced on the beach. The Hut being where it was got all of them, and Camila was happy to serve them. Keeping the liquor flowing produced great tips. Flashing a little cleavage, and having a ‘take no shit’ attitude also got her free drinks paid for by said rowdy party group. 

Nate had never stolen anything before, but he imagined this was what it felt like: sticky-skinned, manic heart, lowering his face to avoid the chance that someone, somewhere, was catching this on camera. He was sitting on the bench by the diner. He was turning the pack over to find a tab to pull, to get the plastic off, to open it up. Nate had never stolen anything before, but the world was tilted, a little, and his breath was in his ears, and don’t people always talk about a rush? Was that what this was? Like he was getting away with something. Like he was breaking a rule he was supposed to know better than to break.

She was staring at her phone, watching for Pokemon, and wasn’t watching where she was going -- paying no attention to the loading screen she was always met with that warned her to be aware of her surroundings. The uneven sidewalk caught her next step, and because she put so much effort into saving her phone instead of her own skin, Micah found herself with a slightly scraped up phone and bleeding knees. She sat on the ground for a second, trying to assess the damage, and hoping no one actually saw her go down. 

This morning in Eastcliff, there’s a very interesting sight to see in the form of a twenty-five year old slacker who’s... well, you guessed it-- slacking on the job. Foot dangling haphazardly from the side of the shop, Kirk sits quietly on the rooftop with a sharpie in his hand and a sketchbook in the other. It’s a peaceful morning in Eastcliff for the first time in a very long time for the man, but he knows that with his luck (ha!) that’ll change soon. Hell, it’s only a matter of time before his boss throws a flip flop at him for him to get down there, but... For now, though, he figures that he’ll enjoy the time he has by working on his comic, as per usual.