Landfill
Queen Tea's
The herd of students flooding the coffee shop was ridiculous. A new year and new kids; virgins on their own. It's sickening, you can smell the mama boys and daddy's girls a mile away.
I miss summer, when I could come into Queen Tea's and be able to sit in the corner and sip my coffee without a herd of kids squealing and exclaiming that they can't believe they're on their own for the first time in life. You're 18, you need to shut up and fuck off. I also hope you pay too much for your coffee, dick.
Starbucks just opened and are flooded down the street, so kids come here. I'm here everyday; my apartment has the shittiest wi-fi connection. Here at Queen Tea's, wi-fi is free and fast. I need it to check my email, talk to my friends and write and email my publicist my manuscripts.
Scratch the last part, my publicist hasn't gotten a new manuscript in months. My brain... She hates me. My brain, Nikki Jr. is growing dust... Housing black widows, knitting cobwebs. She can't think of anything. She sings Light My Fire to bug me.
My fingers, they float over the keys of my funky little laptop and come up with nothing. Molly emails me -my publicist- everyday, asking what I've come up with.
Nada. Zip. Zero. Nothing. Crap.
I can't seem to get the juice flowing. I don't know what to write. I mean, I become Shakespeare on the toilet or in the shower, but at Queen Tea's, I'm...
I'm... Nothing.
Nada. Zip. Zero. Shit.
"This seat taken?" A soft, manly voice breaks my thoughts.
I tilted my glasses up my nose to see the man standing in front of me. He's tall, shaggy chocolate brown hair and boyish features. He's one of those kids.
A mama's boy. But, odd thing is, I don't smell mama's boy. Daddy's pride and joy, though.
The kid, he's rail thin, adding to the height. Long legs, long fingers wrapped around a Starbucks coffee cup. He has a bag hanging off his shoulder.
"Uh," I lack words at the fact he was speaking to me, "Do I know you?" I asked curiously.
He shakes his head, "No, but I know you. Well, I've seen you around."
He sat down and his large, equally dark eyes bore into mine. His features fits a scene of a lost boy. I've never seen him before and I don't know what to make of him.
"What's your name?" He asked.
I shut the screen to my laptop down, "Why?"
He shrugged his shoulders, lips tweak to smirk and smile, just a bit; "Curious."
"What's your name?" I ask him instead.
"I asked you first." He took a sip of his coffee.
I hummed, "Didn't your mother teach you not to talk to strangers?"
"How do you make friends, then? Everyone is a stranger until you go over and take the seat in front of them."
I couldn't help but to smile. I tried to pull it back, but it escaped; "You got me there."
"Now, what's your name?" He asked again.
"Nikki." I replied.
He folded his arms and leant forward, "Nice to meet you, Nikki. I'm Ryan."
I miss summer, when I could come into Queen Tea's and be able to sit in the corner and sip my coffee without a herd of kids squealing and exclaiming that they can't believe they're on their own for the first time in life. You're 18, you need to shut up and fuck off. I also hope you pay too much for your coffee, dick.
Starbucks just opened and are flooded down the street, so kids come here. I'm here everyday; my apartment has the shittiest wi-fi connection. Here at Queen Tea's, wi-fi is free and fast. I need it to check my email, talk to my friends and write and email my publicist my manuscripts.
Scratch the last part, my publicist hasn't gotten a new manuscript in months. My brain... She hates me. My brain, Nikki Jr. is growing dust... Housing black widows, knitting cobwebs. She can't think of anything. She sings Light My Fire to bug me.
My fingers, they float over the keys of my funky little laptop and come up with nothing. Molly emails me -my publicist- everyday, asking what I've come up with.
Nada. Zip. Zero. Nothing. Crap.
I can't seem to get the juice flowing. I don't know what to write. I mean, I become Shakespeare on the toilet or in the shower, but at Queen Tea's, I'm...
I'm... Nothing.
Nada. Zip. Zero. Shit.
"This seat taken?" A soft, manly voice breaks my thoughts.
I tilted my glasses up my nose to see the man standing in front of me. He's tall, shaggy chocolate brown hair and boyish features. He's one of those kids.
A mama's boy. But, odd thing is, I don't smell mama's boy. Daddy's pride and joy, though.
The kid, he's rail thin, adding to the height. Long legs, long fingers wrapped around a Starbucks coffee cup. He has a bag hanging off his shoulder.
"Uh," I lack words at the fact he was speaking to me, "Do I know you?" I asked curiously.
He shakes his head, "No, but I know you. Well, I've seen you around."
He sat down and his large, equally dark eyes bore into mine. His features fits a scene of a lost boy. I've never seen him before and I don't know what to make of him.
"What's your name?" He asked.
I shut the screen to my laptop down, "Why?"
He shrugged his shoulders, lips tweak to smirk and smile, just a bit; "Curious."
"What's your name?" I ask him instead.
"I asked you first." He took a sip of his coffee.
I hummed, "Didn't your mother teach you not to talk to strangers?"
"How do you make friends, then? Everyone is a stranger until you go over and take the seat in front of them."
I couldn't help but to smile. I tried to pull it back, but it escaped; "You got me there."
"Now, what's your name?" He asked again.
"Nikki." I replied.
He folded his arms and leant forward, "Nice to meet you, Nikki. I'm Ryan."
♠ ♠ ♠
My mom and I are packing up to move and I found the picture of the first time I met Ryan Ross in California at a coffee shop called Queen Tea's, and I came up with this. I recently went on his twitter and I think I may be falling in love with Ryro :)Okay, I know I shouldn't be writing another story, but I couldn't help myself.
thanks for looking/reading
xoali