Pandora's Box
Nothing Else Matters
"So Miami's a go?"
I glanced over at Sid as we both stood in the alley at the side of the shop that served as a parking lot, "Pretty much, just have to book my flight."
He took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke back out into the warm afternoon air, "When do you leave?"
"Thursday morning. Ami needs another artist as soon as possible and I have appointments booked here for the rest of the week."
"Well that sucks ass, we only have three days left til you go," Sid huffed.
I turned my body to face him and rested my shoulder against the wall, "I'm only going for two weeks. I'll be back before you know it."
"It's two weeks too long if you ask me," he kicked some of the rocks at his feet.
I rolled my eyes. For a tall, skinny, peroxide blonde, tattooed 25-year-old with an obsessive love of punk rock, black skinny jeans and vintage leather jackets, Sid could be such a baby sometimes.
"You do know I'll be calling you every night, right?" he asked me as he finished his cigarette.
I smiled, "You and Zacky."
"Have you told him yet?" Sid asked as we walked back around the corner to the shop entrance.
"Uh, no," I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly.
"Well you gotta tell him sometime, might as well be now," Sid motioned to shiny black BMW parked outside the tattoo shop.
"Oh shit."
comments = ♥
I glanced over at Sid as we both stood in the alley at the side of the shop that served as a parking lot, "Pretty much, just have to book my flight."
He took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke back out into the warm afternoon air, "When do you leave?"
"Thursday morning. Ami needs another artist as soon as possible and I have appointments booked here for the rest of the week."
"Well that sucks ass, we only have three days left til you go," Sid huffed.
I turned my body to face him and rested my shoulder against the wall, "I'm only going for two weeks. I'll be back before you know it."
"It's two weeks too long if you ask me," he kicked some of the rocks at his feet.
I rolled my eyes. For a tall, skinny, peroxide blonde, tattooed 25-year-old with an obsessive love of punk rock, black skinny jeans and vintage leather jackets, Sid could be such a baby sometimes.
"You do know I'll be calling you every night, right?" he asked me as he finished his cigarette.
I smiled, "You and Zacky."
"Have you told him yet?" Sid asked as we walked back around the corner to the shop entrance.
"Uh, no," I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly.
"Well you gotta tell him sometime, might as well be now," Sid motioned to shiny black BMW parked outside the tattoo shop.
"Oh shit."
comments = ♥