A "classic" 1974 love story.
Harry Styles is a famous english painter, a tortured artist who leads a life in black and white, in search of a spark of inspiration, of color. So he moves to sunny California, and finds his spark.
She is precious, confi...
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It's finally friday, and you're late for work again.
Probably because you cried yourself to sleep last night, but no one needs to know about that. This morning you didn't go down to the dance studio, instead you stared into your coffee cup and got lost in your thoughts, no music, no book, no magazine just your own brain without any distractions. It was difficult, and it hurted your mind a little.
You also forgot to do your laundry yesterday and had to resort to wearing a bathing suit under your clothes today, it wouldn't be so bad if you decided to go take a dive into the ocean after work tonight, but you're not crazy enough to do that, and you also happen to be terribly afraid of the ocean.
You rode your bike to work, because walking felt like too much of an effort, and you'd rather suffer through 10 minutes of biking instead of 15 to 20 minutes of walking, or limping through the persisting pain in your knee after last night's dance that you convinced yourself was purely a moment of poor judgement on your part. You should've known better, even if it felt good for a few minutes the pain that it brought was not worth it.
You adjust the line of your one piece lavender bathing suit that threatens to recoil on itself and dig into the flesh of your ass and smooth over your white sweater that you wear over your also white silk dress, and shiny knee high boots the same color as your bathing suit. You like your outfit today, and you also couldn't be bothered to suffer wearing pants considering the hot weather forecast. Without glancing back at your reflection in the sticker covered mirror of your work bathroom you leave the small room and go back to organizing the record bins, chewing on your favorite raspberry gum as usual.
You keep on glancing out the window, looking for a certain redhead girl who's supposed to come and get her skates back after she offered them to you last night when she noticed how difficult it was for you to walk with your injured knee. You suppose that she probably forgot, or maybe she's still sleeping considering she claimed that she was going to a party last night. Or maybe you're just looking for someone else, a someone wearing high waisted dress pants and a wife beater, or a shirt barely holding onto his body with two buttons clasped together holding on for their dear life. But instead you find your gaze focusing on the turquoise water far ahead of you, a few people swimming in the water, and someone showing off their surfing skills to the many women sunbathing on the beach. You scold yourself and focus back on what you were doing when you imagine the person falling off their board and you quietly laughing at them.
You go back to work and try to keep yourself distracted to not dwell upon last night's mistake, you clean and organize shelves as best as you can while the customer's are making a mess looking through the record bins, you roll up the cords attached to the amplifiers so that no one trips on it if they want to try out any instrument, you clean the counter next to the cash register, even the inside of it, you throw away old magazines and call the supplier for new ones, along with other issues that you've never read before and thought customers might like, you rearrange the window display once, twice and then a third time until you like the disposition of the posters, you change the lightbulb in the small bathroom next to Rick's office, sweep the floors and finally, it's lunch time.
