Carrie

Carrie was thru with the office, and with Vivianna, her public relations officer, at least, for the day. She plopped onto the seat of her car, texted her security gard where she was going, and drove onto the streets, into the sunset. It’s not like she could see the sun setting, but the colors above the skyscrapers gave her a hint as to what was happening past the city limits. It was times like this, and pretty much every other time, that she hated Los Angeles, City of the Angels. It may have lived up to the name at one point, but now it seemed to mock all of those whom choose to reside there. It was time to go home.

________**________
(next day)

Pulling into the Café, Carrie beeped her keys at her car, watching her headlights flash, and smiled at how much more friendly of a flash it was than those from the bushes. It had been a part of her life as long as she could remember, yet she still hated the pictures taken everywhere she when. She’d been forced to give up her dog last year, as she couldn’t even walk Monty without being mobbed by papparazi and fans.

Opening the door, she stepped inside the warm atmosphere, disregarding the stares she was meet with. Reaching the counter, Carrie smiled warmly for this early, and ordered a cup of coffee. Her machine at home had died, so she’d left early as to have time to enjoy it sitting down. She spotted a table in the back, and made her way over there, ignoring the clanking of her necklaces and tapping of her heels. In twenty minutes she was due for a manicure, thou it shouldn’t matter if she was to be five late. Carefull to not let her skirt ride up, she slid into the booth, tapping away on her blackberry till her coffee came.

“Hey, Carrie.” It was a male voice that caused her to raise her head, and thou she was surprised, she’d never let it show. “Mind if I sit here?” Her eyebrow raised, and she shook her brown locks. She didn’t know who he was, yet he didn’t hold a camera or clipboard, so she figured she was safe. He as attractive, that she knew, and she also knew it’s impolite to stare. Her eyes lowered to her coffee, and phone, as his did the same. He spoke with her on familiar terms, but didn’t expect her to recognize him. His voice had a strong accent that she couldn’t quite peg; it intruiged her.

All to soon, Carrie had finished her coffee, and was forced to bid the strange man goodbye. However, even as she sat, engulfed in the smell of nail polish and over-used perfumes, she replayed the five-minute exchange in her head, not really paying attention to what was happening around her till she pulled out onto the road, and had to sell her focas to the traffic of Hollywood.