You were expecting a description, but it was me, Dio.
Find out for urself
Ya chicken
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When this story becomes an Emmy award winning motion picture, I want Harry Styles to play all of the ni...
You were jolted awake by a snuffling grunt and loud snores. Instead of smacking the alarm clock like every other normal teenage girl, you smacked the offending hobo and sat up.
"Good morning NYC!" you cheered, gazing out at the swamp waters of the Bronx. It was like a Shrek haven, and you were proud to call it home.
You reached over and gave your Lorax Funko Pop a lucky flick. The Lorax was one of your role models— coming second only to Paris Hilton, and of course, your beloved mother.
Sure, now she only existed in the crumpled polaroid tacked up on the wall, but you still loved her.
You took it down and looked at it. Instead of being clichély torn in two, with parents on opposite sides, your picture was torn horizontally, leaving you only their bottom halves to look to for counsel.
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Right now your father's stumpy legs were telling you that you hadn't eaten in the last ten hours.
"I'm hungry!" You announced to the stink bug crawling into the open mouth of the snoring hobo. You lost your zeal though as the smell of rotten Taco Bell wafted past your nose.
It reminded you of your lack of good life choices.
After your mom went to heaven, your deadbeat daddy had ding-dong-ditched you on some stuffy dude's lawn. Luckily, you escaped to the hobos and hippies before you became the next Bridgerton star.
Maybe you should have stuck around long enough for him to sign you up for a trust fund.
You took a swig of your two-day-old matcha goat milk tea out of your eco-friendly VSCO flask.
Your pretty e/c orbs swept your living space. A Harry Styles blanket thrown over a ratty old futon in the corner, broken Christmas lights, and some threadbare fnaf plushies decorated the funky area.
It wasn't much, but it was your home. It was also the only place that wasn't covered in trash. After all, you, Y/N L/N prided yourself on having the cleanest corner of the hobo camp.
You freed yourself from your blanket taco and scurried over to the restrooms. They were the only thing left standing after the Chuck E. Cheese blew up.
You elbowed your way to the front of the line. "Make way for the selfless eco-warrior!" you ignored the cries of the smaller, motherless children.
Once inside, you checked yourself out in the large mirror. Still you. You didn't worry though. One day all of your J. Lo manifesting would pay off.
You hopped over someone's nasty Dr. Eggman body pillow and slipped into your stall.
As soon as you locked the door behind you, you were hit with the nauseating fumes of the fifteen or so mini-candles you found in your last dumpster dive. You inhaled the jumble of essences and grinned. This was your fourth favorite part of the day: getting dressed.
