#ironriverstarter

One yard sale easel, a thrown in box of half used paints, and two hours later Sab stepped back to admire her ‘work’. Was it a really tall person? A lonely tree? A mutant dog? By that point, even she couldn’t tell. She was about to scrap the whole thing and call ‘painting in the park’ a bucket list box better left unchecked when, out of the corner of her eye— Oh shit. Were they looking?

“I totally meant for it to turn out that way,” she rushed to offer (just in case), her tongue tripping over the blatant and obvious lie. “I was going for... erm. Abstract impressional-surrealism.” 

“Listen, I’m really not the guy to do it for you. Tally is all booked up too,” Evren said with a shrug. His artwork was solid, he was a far better artist than any person who worked the tattoo gun and that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Evren didn’t have more than a handful of months under his belt as an apprentice. He’d been tattooing the old school way for years now. “I could give you an old school stick and poke or you can offer to buy some of the art on the wall, but otherwise you’re shit outta luck.”

location: Tina’s 24 Hour Diner

Out of all the places in Iron River that Tori missed she had to admit that Tina’s diner was her favorite. It may not be the fanciest place in town or even the healthiest but there was just something about the place that she missed. Maybe it was the atmosphere or the little, old lady in the booth who reminded her of Betty White. Maybe it was all the memories she had of coming here with her friends. Whatever the reason of course she was going to visit now that she was back in town. The food was just as good as she remembered it and though it was a different Tina taking orders it still felt the same. Taking a bite of the pie in front of her, she hummed in satisfaction. Glancing at the person approaching her booth, she nodded to the seat across from her. “The seats open if you want to sit. Just have to promise that you’ll keep it a secret that I ordered two slices of pie,” she joked.

“Well, I thought it was funny to name it that.” June said with a grin. She impulse boat a new boat. Most people would’ve expected her to get a yacht, but the blonde instead bought of the sport MasterCrafts, with big speakers and was loading up the wakeboards and tubes on it. The boat was a retro color -- a seafoam and the name was Buckle Bunny. Which, was the rodeo derogatory name for beautiful women who didn’t know how to ranch and bagged cowboys. “I’ve been called it so many times, I started owning it. I’m just getting it ready for the season. You know how it goes. Can’t wait to unleash my inner demons on whoever is on that tube though.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t pet him,” Rhett said. He jingled the prong collar on Alto lightly, a warning to the dog. Alto was at his full weight, nearing 100 pounds and he stood like he was squaring up to a stranger. The dog had more fight in him than Rhett did these days, which was saying something. “Release,” Rhett said, shaking his head, the dog moving to sit next to him obediently. “He’s an asshole. But, if I leave him in the truck, he’ll rip the fuck out of the seats. He’s less of a menace when I take him with me.” Less, but if someone wanted to be an asshole to Rhett, Alto would fuck them up.

Colt had a new rope over one arm, and was glancing through the performance boots, not like he needed another set, but he was looking anyway. This place to him was what Home Depot was to other men. When he felt like he had what he needed, he walked to the counter and placed the order for the feed he needed. Three bags of Senior, pellets, and then creep. He was moderately annoyed he was having to feed three different type, but whatever. He walked outside while the boys brought his feed back up to the top and went to the garden area. He was looking at tomatoes when he said, “I have half a mind to put in a garden, but it’s another thing, you know?”

"I mean, I don't exactly have a plan, but like, we can figure it out.” 

           Zoey hums, eyes lazily observing her surroundings as she comfortably rides her bike down the street. Fingers tapping on the handle bars, she finds herself grooving to the song playing in her headphones, singing along to ‘Waterloo’ by ABBA... badly. Your everyday person would certainly never hear Zoey sing in the first place, but the brunette always found solace in riding her bike around town. It was the only thing that brought her a semblance of peace, which made it the perfect place to sing as bad as she wanted. However, just as she turned a corner, the bike beneath her began to wobble. Zoey’s entire being ran cold, coming to an immediate halt. Just as she did, the screw on her back wheel fell off, the chain on her bike falling with it. “—Oh fuck me,” she cursed, shoving her precious bike in frustration, her only use of transportation hitting the concrete. “This is what I get for being in my late twenties, riding a fucking bike,” she mutters, pulling out her phone as she takes a seat at the edge of the sidewalk.