For her whole life, Vera's had it good. Until one day it's not. When her billionaire father and international steller fashion designer mom; get into a divorce. And the process of life begins with growing pains. Vera starts to doubt everything for th...
Conrad shoved the remaining posters in his trucks’ glove department. He admitted he wished he hadn’t helped that guy from earlier.
What was his name again…?
Erick? Aaron? Or Arin? Was it?
The point was that shit took forever, he was already running late because of it.
Conrad didn’t even know why the Lacrosse team needed it, the whole school’s bulletin boards were full of them. Even as he passed by the halls he heard some freshman giggling about it. Lacrosse did that to people. He knew that.
Conrad closed the glove department and stuck his keys in the ignition.
With an old rumble his truck came to life. The metallic chirp coming from it wasn’t so bad for an old pickup.
Earlier today, it was obvious that his bright cherry red Cheverlot sticked out like a sore thumb. Conrad didn’t care. Hiis old 1950’s baby had more character than all the classic lexus’s, Cadillacs, Teslas, BMW’s, Mercedes, and was more expensive than your average Honda’s; couldn’t match his Baby’s class. Plus it’s been in the family since longer than he could remember.
Back then he would’ve traded this thing out for an awesome Jeep, like the Hunter green one parked right beside him.
Although Jeeps aren't as expensive. There were actually quite a few around here. He guessed it was normal around California.
Pulling out of the school parking lot, he drove to his next stop, hoping he wasn’t gonna be late.
The drive over there was the perfect representation of how much he didn’t fit into that school. No matter how many pretty girls they had.
He passed by luxury restaurants, strip malls,golf clubs, penthouses and top of the hill houses until he came into the highway loop and into a completely different louder environment. It was filled with noise coming from screaming mothers, honking, cursing and hollers, as he passed by tiny condominiums, parks reserved for potheads, spanish-labeled supermarkets, donut shops, salons, and liquor stores, all surrounded by graffiti.
Somehow that to him had become home, it wasn’t so dangerous once you understood the rules of this place. Any hills kid would be scared and jump shitless.
Conrad slowed down as he turned into a gravel paved road. He parked in front of a pub, illuminated by the bright neon sign that read, ‘Mike’s Bar’.
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Taking the keys out of his ignition, he turned to the backseat of his car pulling out a pole -like- tool. He attached it to the steering wheel and locked it. It’s called a Wheel Lock for anti theft. Like he said, as long as you played by the neighborhood's rules, it wasn't so scary.
