Hell! The whole amble thing to work is exhausting, I try to trip my cracked lips on warm steam. But Ayla has strengthened my arm so bad, she can't let go of it.
"Oh God, save our heads!"
I pray in forsaken husky music. She hums.
I am going to sour each of the fucking cake pieces. With this mood of taking it harrow, I will screw it.
Walking by the museum's old railway, I discern quietly the cafe.
Ayla works finely for the first time, so yeah? She has the ultimate question to raise, dizzy.
And here is about 10. I step forth, each step thudded sticky.
The fanning breath itches, as the walk intensifies, with a workaholic fiend mate chasing.
She rashly hails. I faint-like flush, thrusting barely alive inside. Daniel, the bar guy rifles dirt out of dishes, as Rin, the waiter, squeezes orange skin. Both wear wearisome looks, I decline to say:
Ayla waves her hand. I look bizarrely beaten. Daniel grunts, tugging forward a paper bag. I smile.
Ayla smirks, nodding at me. She hints at my back, eerily announces:
"You got your promotion!"
I cue incomprehensible. The blood races entirely devastated. The whole surprise is packing up coy and sneaky.
"The new waitress!"
"Move before Dickson finds you standing!"
I gaze. Everybody quenches their lower throat. Ayla covers her mouth with a hand. Her deceitful manner to conceal prudish giggle, it's not a worth try. Ayla raises a tip, trying breathlessly to ask.
I hit her by the elbow.
Three hours walking...
After three hours bolting customer to customer, my feet are freaky sore.
I gasp reclined on a relentless chair. Ayla is screaming the shit of my brain, I can't stand the loud rhythm. It deafens my crooked ears.
"What the hell is wrong?"
"Something must have gone bad!"
Daniel parrots, giggling under the counter. He paddles off his creepy light mustache.
I wiggle, rubbing sharply my arms together. And after a second, the light disaster grows tumultuous. Footsteps disperse. People are also breathing less of hermetic fresh oxygen.
Geniusly I park embarrassed my backbone to a reeling chair.
"Don't exalt me!"
Dan is chatting with his older girlfriend. My puffed compressed cheeks natter, full and choleric.
"I want to hang out this evening...do you have plans?"
Wrought up in an edgy without quarrelsome people, I listen ear-intense the lovely conversation. I grumble humble, blemished, and jittery. The giggle freely leaps louder. I hear his head bumping easily to the lip of grey, thick counter.
"Meeting your parents! Come on, it's Sunday tomorrow. Go tomorrow!"
I remain silent. On the center of buzzing, there is a central frolical playroom. I walk steadily inside the kitchen.
"I told you raspberry cream, not blueberry!"
Ayla folds in excitable shivers. She frowns, enough of the mess, then vaults smiling.
"After watching you here, it doesn't go wrong...you are made of paste!"
I make weird fun, staying one leg outside, one in, upfront adhering on the wall. Wobbling from the nightmarish cold of refrigerators, I clench my arms.
"God you're fine, thought you died, carrying a tray!"
"I heard some girl, shouting...at you?
She furrows, telling apart the miserable situation I fall before. The scene was obscure, I tripped on the muggy carpet and beloved sweet paste over her long dress. I smart confess.
"It was a problem, okay! Besides...
I begin blabbing excuses. Sorrowfully, I rub my neck in an indirect complex shame. She starts laughing, squeezing balls of raspberry over a large cake.
"I said sorry, she immediately unfroze of light-mindedness!"
"Your fool way of apologies...
ACT-like Ayla spills some juice on the floor, diminished lip-surface, she growls, wry.
"Do your job!"
I warn, slightly believably bossy.
On the contrary aisles, she tosses warm berry tars on my coins-baggy uniform.
We laugh, languid impassive.
I poke the jimmy jam around my belly, in light spit and some wet wipe, I begin rubbing hard.
Laying a hand on the tray, I grasp another kerchief and cleanse it up brutal.
"Did you finish in jam bowl?"
Wary Daniel asks, putting on a weary smile.
"Thanks to a friend I have!"
"Change it, before it congeals.
He advises well-informed. I mildly blow away. Violently I trash flat-diligent the papers in the bin.
The doorbell rings. I nod suspiciously.
I haw. Two young-other than professional ladies sit next to the window, enjoying droplets of rain. Fantastic view...
Walking say-so-bushy-captured, or thorn-stabbed, I nicely query:
"Hello! What do you want to order?"
Interrogation fell silent, no actual response. They cleverly take off black glasses and sigh:
I breathe noisily, kinda crumpled ruffle.
"Let's see...how about two cappuccinos, cold, and one slice of redberry pie?" the lady wearing ordinary trousers suggests bleakly. Her mate in the front rank, bobs for yes.
I smile greatly.
Instead of harrowing them for more wishes, I stoop wisely and flip-floppy walkway, pressing eyesight indeliberately to a certain corner of the front cafe.
Shaking the tray, playing with it from one thumb to the other, I stress up, wanly frowning.
Heartrate race thriving. I chew my tongue as if for real meat. Nervously ticking, I gather my willpower and hold upward the tray:
He stares drunk-so baffled before a stylish black and white waitress covers her eyes. After the hideous mask's unnecessary, I beat on the keyboard, quickly printing silly orders.
"What the hell you doing!?"
"I am no feeling okay, probably poisoned...
I witness eyesight getting blurrier and hands, shaking further insecure. He touches my elbow, convincingly trying to calm me down.
Assuredly I tackle the papers, tearing them apart. Then I get a finger snap before my eyes.
"Are you okay?"
I gawk widely impressed. That was a dream. I shuffle easily and do the task improperly.
"They ordered two cappuccinos and an extra slice of pie!"
His eyelook implies relatable. I shift toward printing, take the voucher and run to the kitchen. I shrug scared.
Ayla turns her back to me. She glares immobile.
"A slice of redberry pie!"
Normally she asks back, friskily clearing her throat.
I shout, eagerly stomping. Shamefully I constantly scrape the palms.
Ayla obeys, setting off a grim look of lips to the pie.
The fluster got roused inside back again. Right now, perfect...when I am hard at building a new life. He exhibits to breach this rule.
"Here take it!"
Ayla steps closer, stumbling the china white plate align to my breasts.
"Since you were so depressed waiting for it!"
"I am...sorry for before!"
I stammer, yet the dish hoovering on plain air. Noisy dishes mark my head. I hop merely hopeful to convince her child-mind.
She simply grazes her thumbs and pushes the decorated pie forward.
I rush outside, face-wrecked.
Lie on the black tray the plate along with both cappuccinos and float to the table.
I glow frantic awesome before the two ladies, talking.
A long ten minutes later, I sparkle on a flaring rasp. Splashing the edge of the tray on top of the desktop, I blab waving my waist off the counter's brink.
"How much you're tired?
I receive a weird question. Rin surfing freely on the net, he furrows, raising a question. I exhale, taking a WTF expression:
"My feet only!"
"Believe me, it's better than in the kitchen!"
I hum. Later I see the sky darkening. A wan typical march stormy day arrives. I look up there, responding eye-suspicious:
"It's going to rain hard!"
"Better! So we fuck these people off!"
He giggles behind the screensaver. I add a burst of laughter as well.
"I bet not, snow!"
Daniel hauls off mildly opposite.
I proclaim, thriving empty and cold. He flings missing above parted lips.
I wear a shade of pinched.
"You're so fortunate!"
Ayla slams the kitchen door open. The hinges being retracted largely, don't go the before place easily. She rebukes rowdy:
"Dickson, whoever the fuck is, canceled his flight!"
And he is our boss, luckily she isn't going to meet him for the first time.
"Who told you?"
All of us interrogate worriedly. Ayla covered In that small curtain of dark shadow smirks, upfront imitates yawning.
"Kidding! But obviously...
She bites an open brown slice of apple, crunching the damn fruit, we stick heart-fast beaten:
"He has died coming the way!"
"No way is he not coming!"
I claim, red-cold flaring. Rin's smile behind the beaming saver turns everybody's look.
"What's wrong with you?"
Daniel sneakingly nods, trying to catch that genuine reason for Rin's happiness.
"What?" he pushes away, hiding the truth. Ayla munches loudly the apple's consecutive slice.
I sniff: a heavy wind approaching Ayla's coconut perfume and mixed: the raspberry jam.
Daniel forwards a flashing cup of alcohol to me.
I stifle, taking naked eyesight to the color.
"Yes!" he acts flirty, rubbing the walls of the glass cup. I rest my pounding heart to the disgusting scent.
"Come on Loo!"
Rin repeats shrieking, after having ridden off the phone.
"It's simple Loo, just a slump!" Ayla slams tips on the corner where I lean.
"Yeah!" Daniel retells reassuringly, perusing my distorted stare.
Soon, the clock ticks just exactly 13 o'clock. I mute.
I lift tHe shot glass, persuing the meme-worthy parted eyebrows of colleagues.
The juice narrows the tastebuds, so quirky, untasty, and glib. I snort, slamming the glass back to the table.
They clap happily. I detect vomit, gliding the throat and tickling the mighty palate.
My rush increase.
I insult, bearing my mouth shut. I run anguish. Late I pound down the toilet's shutter. The voyage sleekly slips down the thin lips. The plump blood sprinkles aside the sink's white china.
I follow the noises, from the antagonist cafe room. The nasty chats...
"It was worth savoring!
Ayla snaps conscious.
I shriek, getting the mouth full of water. I jittery turn harsh. The stubbly chiseled jawline washes the remaining brown whiskey. Tactly I shuffle outside, pointing unhesitant at the shot glass.
Daniel tweets like crazy. Rin also bows down, in contrast to vomit's slight smell across the room. Luckily no people are drinking or eating. I start counting the hours we've spent joking and hours going to spend skipping this fucking job.
Deep lines of wrinkle fall forward anguish eyelids, all the time blinking. Rin relaxes paying attention to a cup of coffee in a chair, aside from the brusher.
Ayla holds in free palm a chocolate bar, eating it awkwardly fast.
Daniel speaks with me, jutting thin lips:
"Are you starting practice this year?"
I decrease insight of the question and lour all eyes on the calm dark. But as soon as caught, I deem medium-whisper:
"I am thinking of quitting it?!
He asks, pulling a sad face. I grumble low-unmeaning:
"Because I can't afford it!"
"Apply for scholarships!"
He urges, diligently, rubbing a wet towel on his wrists.
"They don't accept,
I lightly curl my lips in a vulnerable sign of a smile. I can't explain thoroughly, while my nods and lip-syncing are fake.
"Besides I need some time off books!"
"Have you requested a loan?"
I tautly wince, shaking. Ayla and Rin are mulling over presumptuous fights, in a corner behind the shut door. They aren't listening to our little noiseless conversation.
"No, I don't want to,
I cast a glance at the table, while nipping nails worriedly. Ears-on Daniel opens up:
"If you need money, don't hesitate to ask!"
He throws a hand to my gripping left fist and waves it. Peacefully I agree to nod, but fully blushed.
"Thank you, but no need to pledge!"
I nicely stare. Parted teeth start to rumble a cry.
"Give me a hug!"
Daniel opens his arms, yanking out of the safe counter. I phase out, chime, and carry on tugging him hard.
He wiggles my lumped hair and throws a joke:
"It's so messy!"
I giggle behind his back. He then emphasizes patting on the shoulders courageously.
My breath gusts fan down his strands of hair. Nor a single tear I do drip now, he is always my wall...
"Come on! And don't quit the school!"
He advises pulling off strong hands from my neck. I nod, possibly optimistic.
Ayla screams, slipping a large kitchen glove over Rin's head. Rin ambushes it well, on the other occasions where he would jump the ass 'harsh 6-inch hand against our skulls. I swing the main tips around her shoulders.
Then I and Daniel ask, smugly smiling. Ayla takes a breath and moans:
"We played Candy Crush! He didn't accomplish 5 levels!"
Putting a thunder face, Ayla realizes this to be a sacred war, not like a simply ridiculous theatrical piece, where she self-satisfies.
We feel instinctively strange above that cloud of joy. Daniel sleekly bumps a spoon on the table, I lay a lopsided smile.