Watch Me.
An Obnoxious Dork.
Frank honestly thought he would die in this place.
Costumers came and went while the position he occupied by the counter remained the same. One elbow leant against the hardwood surface, his chin resting in the palm of his hand, one lazy strand of black hair falling over his right eye, while the other hand browsed through yet another lame comic. Good graphic novels were hard to find nowadays.
With vacant mind and idle hands, he was prone to daydreaming, his father would often say. And indeed, in a matter of moments Frank’s eyes glazed over, their glassy surface reflecting tiny shards of light that managed to crawl into the cluttered store. He could be anywhere right now, anywhere but here in Shitsville.
The heat from the outside seemed to pour into the room relentlessly. A tiny droplet of sweat rolled down Frank’s forehead and got caught in the thick layer of his eyelashes. He glanced at the broken air conditioner with anger instantly painting his cheeks red. Nothing could ever go his way lately, he thought bitterly and turned yet another page before he gave up and threw the comic on the messy pile in the corner behind the high counter.
The bell over the entrance door to the store rang and Frank’s eyes glanced up with disinterest.
“Slacking off again, Iero?”
“Shut up Jersey.”
The girl strolled to his side, nimbly avoiding the fully stocked shelves, overflowing with pages upon pages of fantasy worlds and heroes. The legs of her loose baggy jeans brushed against one of the messy piles of used comic books and the top one fell to the floor.
“Just like an elephant in a porcelain store,” Frank commented dryly and looked up at the newcomer with unhidden contempt while she turned around swiftly and swatted to fix the damage with a frown and an almost-pout on her face. That boy was driving her insane. Stuck up little prick.
“Shut up asshole. I’m here on official business – I’m in search of a certain graphic novel,” the girl, Jersey, said just as she leaned against the counter, drumming against it with her long white fingers. Frank’s eyes followed their movement in curiosity – weren’t girls, like, supposed to have long painted nails and stuff? Hers were short and dotted with remnants of black nail polish.
“I bite them,” she explained herself simply before putting her hands in her pockets.
“Huh?” Frank asked dumbly.
“My nails, you were looking at them. I bite them, that’s why they look like crap,” Jersey repeated with a hint of blush on her cheeks. A couple of messy strands of her black hair fell of her hazel eyes and she tucked them away with a nervous gesture and then put her hands in her pockets once again, glancing down at Frank who in turn looked at her with a sort of lazy bewilderment.
“Yes, thank you, with that knowledge, my life is now complete,” Frank replied snidely and stood up straight, sporting a big red splotch on his cheek from resting his head on his sweaty palm. “What’s the title?”
“Huh? Oh,” Jersey composed herself and cleared her throat, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I need issues three, five, eight, nine, ten, and eleven of the Watchmen series. Original issues.”
Frank’s jaw fell to the floor (only mentally, in reality he was staring at Jersey with his eyes wide open, but totally playing it cool).
“That is, if you can get them, of course,” Jersey added with an impish smile.
Frank collected his thoughts and took in a deep breath, then started to fuss around the dirty counter, clearing its surface. “I only have three and eight here, you’ll have to wait for the rest. You are aware that they will cost you a bit more?” Frank raised an eyebrow.
“Whatever the price,” Jersey replied calmly and smiled upon the sight of the issues three and eight of her favorite graphic novel diving out from underneath the light wooden surface.
“I never thought someone would ask for those,” Frank commented quietly, hands resting on the cellophane wrapped covers of the third issue.
Jersey produced a wad of cash from her back pocket and slid it into Frank’s hand, taking the comics from underneath it and the pressing them against her chest. The yellow smiley face stood out against the purple of her Morrissey tee.
“You’re free to visit them any time you want,” she said quietly and turned to leave.
“Well, where do you live, huh?” Frank asked quickly but the bell already rang as Jersey opened the door.
“I’ll see you around, Iero,” she said as she turned around to wave goodbye.
Frank counted the cash and placed it in the register, finding that she gave him extra twenty bucks. There was a tiny smiley face in the corner of the last five dollar bill in his spare twenty.
He sat down and stared at the clock, waiting for closing time. Why would a girl, an obnoxious girl he didn’t really know that much, want the Watchmen issues with the Black Freighter? Nobody really knew about those anymore, especially girls, obnoxious yet inexplicably intriguing girls. Intriguing? Frank get a hold of yourself, she’s just a dork like you. An obnoxious dork.
Costumers came and went while the position he occupied by the counter remained the same. One elbow leant against the hardwood surface, his chin resting in the palm of his hand, one lazy strand of black hair falling over his right eye, while the other hand browsed through yet another lame comic. Good graphic novels were hard to find nowadays.
With vacant mind and idle hands, he was prone to daydreaming, his father would often say. And indeed, in a matter of moments Frank’s eyes glazed over, their glassy surface reflecting tiny shards of light that managed to crawl into the cluttered store. He could be anywhere right now, anywhere but here in Shitsville.
The heat from the outside seemed to pour into the room relentlessly. A tiny droplet of sweat rolled down Frank’s forehead and got caught in the thick layer of his eyelashes. He glanced at the broken air conditioner with anger instantly painting his cheeks red. Nothing could ever go his way lately, he thought bitterly and turned yet another page before he gave up and threw the comic on the messy pile in the corner behind the high counter.
The bell over the entrance door to the store rang and Frank’s eyes glanced up with disinterest.
“Slacking off again, Iero?”
“Shut up Jersey.”
The girl strolled to his side, nimbly avoiding the fully stocked shelves, overflowing with pages upon pages of fantasy worlds and heroes. The legs of her loose baggy jeans brushed against one of the messy piles of used comic books and the top one fell to the floor.
“Just like an elephant in a porcelain store,” Frank commented dryly and looked up at the newcomer with unhidden contempt while she turned around swiftly and swatted to fix the damage with a frown and an almost-pout on her face. That boy was driving her insane. Stuck up little prick.
“Shut up asshole. I’m here on official business – I’m in search of a certain graphic novel,” the girl, Jersey, said just as she leaned against the counter, drumming against it with her long white fingers. Frank’s eyes followed their movement in curiosity – weren’t girls, like, supposed to have long painted nails and stuff? Hers were short and dotted with remnants of black nail polish.
“I bite them,” she explained herself simply before putting her hands in her pockets.
“Huh?” Frank asked dumbly.
“My nails, you were looking at them. I bite them, that’s why they look like crap,” Jersey repeated with a hint of blush on her cheeks. A couple of messy strands of her black hair fell of her hazel eyes and she tucked them away with a nervous gesture and then put her hands in her pockets once again, glancing down at Frank who in turn looked at her with a sort of lazy bewilderment.
“Yes, thank you, with that knowledge, my life is now complete,” Frank replied snidely and stood up straight, sporting a big red splotch on his cheek from resting his head on his sweaty palm. “What’s the title?”
“Huh? Oh,” Jersey composed herself and cleared her throat, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I need issues three, five, eight, nine, ten, and eleven of the Watchmen series. Original issues.”
Frank’s jaw fell to the floor (only mentally, in reality he was staring at Jersey with his eyes wide open, but totally playing it cool).
“That is, if you can get them, of course,” Jersey added with an impish smile.
Frank collected his thoughts and took in a deep breath, then started to fuss around the dirty counter, clearing its surface. “I only have three and eight here, you’ll have to wait for the rest. You are aware that they will cost you a bit more?” Frank raised an eyebrow.
“Whatever the price,” Jersey replied calmly and smiled upon the sight of the issues three and eight of her favorite graphic novel diving out from underneath the light wooden surface.
“I never thought someone would ask for those,” Frank commented quietly, hands resting on the cellophane wrapped covers of the third issue.
Jersey produced a wad of cash from her back pocket and slid it into Frank’s hand, taking the comics from underneath it and the pressing them against her chest. The yellow smiley face stood out against the purple of her Morrissey tee.
“You’re free to visit them any time you want,” she said quietly and turned to leave.
“Well, where do you live, huh?” Frank asked quickly but the bell already rang as Jersey opened the door.
“I’ll see you around, Iero,” she said as she turned around to wave goodbye.
Frank counted the cash and placed it in the register, finding that she gave him extra twenty bucks. There was a tiny smiley face in the corner of the last five dollar bill in his spare twenty.
He sat down and stared at the clock, waiting for closing time. Why would a girl, an obnoxious girl he didn’t really know that much, want the Watchmen issues with the Black Freighter? Nobody really knew about those anymore, especially girls, obnoxious yet inexplicably intriguing girls. Intriguing? Frank get a hold of yourself, she’s just a dork like you. An obnoxious dork.
♠ ♠ ♠
y/n?