American Symphony

Cruisin' For a Bruisin'

(Okay so in this, essentially substitute Brady for America, and make the Tiki place into a 50's diner and BOOM. You got this story. Sorry, I just really love the whole 'Jets VS Sharks' vibe of this song and couldnt help myself.)

(1703 words)

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The 50's themed diner on 8th street was a place that various people frequented. Be they the teens from the local high-school there to get a cheap milkshake, or some elderly accountants there to talk business and reminisce.

Today, the diner was home to a small group of people, about 8 or so, packed into a large booth. Unbeknownst to the people around them, these were personifications of some of the countries around the world.

The G-8 meeting was being held at America's place this month, and somehow the American had convinced the group to go to lunch together, so they had ended up here.

The diner itself was a hodgepodge of classic 50's diner decor, mixed with things that would probably be seen in a production of Grease.

Alfred was ecstatic to be there, looking around excitedly. The place really did a good job of bringing the nation back in time and he couldn't help but smile at the feeling.

He ignored England and France bickering beside him and looked around the diner, which had a surprising amount of space. Red leather booths framed the walls and various tables were close to them, but there was a good amount of unused area.

America furrowed his brow for a moment but moved on, brightening considerably at the sight of a vintage jukebox in the corner. He perked up, gaining the attention of the rest of the nations.

"What's got you so happy?" England asked him, tilting his head in confusion at the American.

America turned back towards the group, shaking his head. "Huh? Oh its nothing..." he said, shaking his head. He thought for a moment about getting up and putting on a classic song— one that you'd find in a movie where they break into song, but he decided against it with a sigh.

England left it at that, turning his attention back to the laminated menu he had in his hands that France was still trying to take from him.

Suddenly, America heard a sharp thrum of guitar sounds, his head snapping up and towards the direction of the sound.

He saw a group of guys and girls, they couldn't be older than 18 or 19, surrounding the jukebox with smirks on their faces. They were leather-clad and tanned, with slicked-back hair and various articles of clothing that made them look like a unit.

Alfred's eyes widened— they looked like they walked out of a jets vs. sharks meeting. A smile appeared on his face when they began to snap, spreading out from the jukebox.

The owner looked at them and was smiling, shaking her head at the group as she allowed them to make a scene.

Surely this couldn't be a normal thing, right? Alfred was beginning to get his hopes up that it was. He got excited, hopping up from his seat. One guy, in dark jeans and a bright red and black shirt, took the lead, the others giving him space, all while snapping at him.

It took Alfred everything he had not to squeal right then and there.

The group seemed to have gained the G-8's attention as well, some of them glancing between the group itself and America with confused eyes.