#springstrapped

              “AFTERNOON, MR BIG BOSS.” She knocks on the security booth door and let’s her head bob ‘round, talking ‘round her slushie straw, the plastic chewed to shit and circled with the sloppy, greasy remains of worn pink lipstick prints. “Some kid’s got his arm stuck in the lucky egg machine, I just thought I’d drop in and let you know. I know usually Big Fella takes care of that sorta stuff but I can’t find him anywhere so I figured, y’know. Security’s the best people t’tell. Protect and serve one pizza at a time.”

“Okay. It’s official. I’m shhhleepin’ over.” It was safe to say that Kat was a little tipsy... And high. She had gotten kicked out of the house the minute her mother found her boozin’  it up at two in the afternoon ( it’s happy hour somewhere, right? ). “I even brought candy and weed and--and--AND.” She struggles to whip around her backpack to show him the plethora of alcohol she had stolen. “--BEER! LIQUOR! You name it, I got it.”

               SHE’S BENT OVER THE AIR HOCKEY table, one hand wrapped ‘round the head of the batting mallet as she speaks to her friend occupying the other end of the smooth surface, casually sliding the putt back and forth as they talk. JB’s not interested in playing seriously today, she’s come to the pizzeria & arcade for obvious other reasons, said reason being apparent when her vision flickers upwards and she catches glimpse of the head of security. Gaze flickers back to her friend, who’s quick to find reason to go play on a different machine, JB slowly slinking upwards, picking up her slushie cup from the side; hand slips down to tug at the hem of her shorts ( their length truly live up to their title ) before slim legs wander over in his direction, sipping at her straw. “Hey. You too busy t’talk?”

apparently personal space wasn’t a huge concern for this guy. ❵

heeeere.