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“Well, Ms. Quin,” Sal said, smiling, “This is it.”
“Wow,” I say, looking at the building. It had taken about a year of construction and detailing to my liking, but it was finally done: my own house/store. “…it’s kind of plain, huh?”
Sal sighs, and replies sadly, “Well yes… you see, painting wasn’t in your contract, so no painting has been done to the outside.”
I stare blankly at him. I mentally snarl at the white-haired man that was wearing the overly pressed gray suit. You know what they say. Ever trust a guy with white hair wearing a suit with your signature in their briefcase.
“Anyhow, I wish you luck, Ms. Quin!” Sal says, getting into his car in quite the hurry. Before I could complain, the man was off, driving like lightning down the road. He obviously wasn’t comfortable with all the different colored people around him. I roll my eyes before going into my new home.
I snarl to myself again. Wuss. Wouldn’t look me in the eye even if he tried. I cracked my knucke slightly. After unpacking a bit of my stuff, I come back out, and stare at the outer appearance of the building. It was… plain as sh!t.
White walls, white everything. And what bugged me the most was probably when you walk to the right a bit… there was a seventy foot long white wall. Completely blank, and everyone could see that blank canvas.
I crossed my nineteen-year-old arms, and mentally counted the amount of money I had in my wallet: one hundred. I had to save some of that, and I needed at least ten to eat dinner. So that left ninety, and I planned on saving forty of that. I made a face when I realized that absolutely NO one in LA would want to paint a house/business for fifty bucks.
But hell, I had to try.
Jumping into my car, I miracluously get my car started on the first try (I should have know the experience for finding a painter for my building would be hell when my ‘67 Ford started without me pleading with it), and I’m off to find a painter.
My home is officially in the ghetto (not that I care, I raised in it) and as I turn the corner, I spy another teenager shaking a can of spray paint. His gray hood blocked his face, and the black jeans hung low on his hips. His head turned, and I caught sight of beautiful green eyes. I gasp when I realized I had almost swerved into the opposite lane.
As I pass, I look into my rear view mirror. Inside the mirror, I see the boy outlining words - b u r n a w a y - with black on the brick wall.
“UGH! This city is so freaking predictable!”
I swing my steering wheel to the left, and continue to growl out profanity. I turn a corner bac home, and as I drive by, my eyes catch an abandoned building. I see a familiar gray sweatshirt and black jeans that hung loosely on his hips. But instead of a blank brick wall, it was a beautiful array of color and fire centered around the words burn away. The boy was adding the finishing details when I decided I had to have this type of art on my walls.
I drive into the empty parking lot, and when I was close enough, I rolled down my manual window. Similar green eyes turn once more and blankly stare at me.
“Hey. Want fifty bucks?”
The boy’s body turns towards me. He’s interested. I noted the dirty and crusty paint, both old and new, on the front of his sweatshirt. “Depends. Whadda ya want?”
“This,” I gestures towards the art on the wall. “I want you to paint my store and I’ll give you fifty bucks for it.”
“…no,” the boy turns away, and continues to finish up his work.
I huff, and sigh. After a second or so, I say, “Fine. I’ll throw in a free meal.”
This time, his head turns like a bullet and his green eyes are shining. “Why didn’t ya say there was free food? Lemme in!” He said, quickly collecting his spray cans and scrambling into the passenger side of my car.
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Janice Quin is the epitome of questions. Her past is the biggest ones. Her strange, light blue eyes and tanned Latina skin is an odd combo but her pretty face attracts many. But it does not work the other way.
That is, until she meet Emanuel. Just Emanuel. And he’s the empitome of Janice’s idea of a puzzle. He’s quiet, loves free food, and he loves to paint: with spray cans. He also has the most beautiful green eyes that sparkle when he smiles.
Both souls have a mysterious and very hard past to get over. Neither is willing to share their stories until a shared treasure suddenly comes into play, will the two finally open up?
 Ukeire · Fri Aug 21, 2009 @ 02:31am · 0 Comments |
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