When I first saw you

It's obviously unfinished

She said she had a particular taste in music as she walked toward the back wall filled with vinyl records from the 30s. Her small figure and dainty legs moved with grace and caution. She never looked as far as to go passed the section of 1990 hit CDs. But that's Destiny. Every other month she comes in and spends about $40 to listen to something new. Maybe not so new to the world but surely nothing she has already accumulated.
"But at what cost will it take you to listen to my playlist on Spotify?"
I say as she walks toward the register looking to me with her big green eyes. I look down to her delicate hands that are grasping a Sammy Davis Jr. vinyl. Her lips part and I could almost imagine a smile on her face.
"I think you and I both know where my limits are, I wouldn't dare listen to the racket of negativity that leaks your headphones."
Destiny may look innocent; Like a little girl filled with anxiety, slump shoulders and fingers that never stop moving, but she has a smart a*s tone that threatens danger. Although, I'm not convinced that she's very lethal.
Her comment makes me giggle, although it's not very funny.
"Alright, alright. Can't blame a guy for trying. Right? Besides, why would you rather listen to that anyway?"
Her eyes meet mine for a split second and I can see the aggravation in her squinted eyes. She quickly commented,
"Nothing you would understand."
Then proceeded to hand me $15 dollars and sped away pushing the glass door filled with school flyers to the maximum reach and the cow bells clanged together, then I knew, I pushed the limit today.
"Dang man. What did you tell her today?"
Says Sky. He's a 6 foot 2 original 1969 Woodstock hippie reincarnated into a 19 year olds body. His hair is long, brown, and wavy. Did I mention he almost never smells clean? The musk stained pits of his t-shirt reeked.
"The parabens bro, they'll kill ya!"
He would always say when I suggested the fine idea of deodorant.
"I just asked her a question. I don't even know why she got so offended."
I say as I click the tip of my pen to the big countertop in front of me.
Sky swivels around in his chair, nonchalant to the world. He could be in a room full of former presidents and wouldn't give a care in the world.
"That's girls for ya man, they're always so fiery mad. She's a pretty cute fireball if you ask me. I see the way you watch her when she's over here, you can't deny it."
At this point, to find out that sky watches me is no surprise, but for him to assume that I like this girl, just because I look at her, I have no words for that.
I come here for about 8 hours a day, starting at lunch.
I was in school and I was tired of my mom nagging me to get out of the house so I applied for the easiest job in town. I come in around 12 and I sit in a bar stool behind a huge empty countertop, occupied by none other than Sky. During the day very few people pop in unexpectedly and it could even take weeks for a customer to show in. So it's fairly easy to get bored. It's either stare at the posters of British Beatle Mania covering the only exposed wall that there is, or chat with Sky. Don't get me wrong, he's a pretty interesting dude. I love to hear about his viewings on war and the world. He seems so out of it, but he's rather intelligent. I think the pot might have gotten to his senses though. Deny it or not, after a half a year here, he's pretty much my family and this place is our home. We make paper airplanes and listen to 90s hits until a customer comes in to snap us back to the reality that, this is work and we're supposed to be grown adults.
It's finally 8 and I clock out, wave to sky and say,
"See you dude."
And in return he nods his head with eyes still focused on the bug that's been crawling around the floor. I really wish I knew what was wrong with that guy, until then, I will still assume it's the pot.

I walk underneath the street light, wondering wether or not it's going to give out as it flickers, but as usual, it doesn't. I live in a town that's pretty divided. It's not necessarily small but there's one side that seemingly has a population of 15 whole people, while the other side of town, across the levy, is filled with thousands upon thousands of night goers. That's what I call the people that stay away until dark and then all of a sudden the town is vibrant with color and music. As I'm walking home a truck races by me and I hear a faint scream "f****t!"
Living in a town like this, it's inevitable to come across a few dozen idiots who care more about booze and trucks than having an actual life. I have had the pleasure of getting to know a few of them. My graduating class was of 257 people and two fifths of them were completely dumb a*s holes who passed through school by glancing over during exams.
After having walked a couple of blocks I finally arrive at, you guessed it, home sweet home. That is, if you find the smell of Chinese take out to be sweet. I walk through the crooked fence door to my bedroom window and I climb in. I like to let my room air out while I'm away, that and I'd do anything to not to have to pass my mom either passed out or having sex on the couch in the living room. I guess she was waiting for my arrival because just as my backpack hit the floor I heard her yell my name and ask if I wanted Gong Bao chicken and dumplings.
"Nah, thanks ma' but I already ate."
I screamed to the door. Lie number one. She's still screaming from across the house as she asks if the food I ate were any good and invites me to play uno with her.
"Yeah, I'm pretty tired so I don't think I'll be able to play tonight, sorry."
Lie numbers two, three, and four. The food that I never ate wasn't very appetizing, I'm not the least bit tired, and I wasn't sorry at all. My mom is trying to make up for time that she hasn't spent with me when I was a child. I know that if I were to go sit down in there and play uno with her, that she would just lose her track of thought and we wouldn't even be able to continue the game. So I take a shower, change my clothes and force myself to sleep anyway.

My square digital clock reads 10:58 A.M. in bold red numbers and my eyes feel like steel doors that are too heavy to push open. The sun is peeking into my window through the sun crisp, broken blinds and I'm so not ready to prepare myself for the day. As far as I know, earth is still spinning so I have to live life and suck it up like s big kid. I get up, trip over a few things, run to take a shower, and when I'm out I decide for once that maybe I should eat breakfast. To my disadvantage though, I find an older man with his stubbled face buried into my mothers chest while they lay there on the same couch passed out with probably the last line of coke still on the coffee table. My appetite is gone completely so I turn around leave through the back door.

My mom gave birth to me, I don't know if I should love her or hate her for that, but she's the reason why I'm here. I have to tolerate her as much as she used to tolerate me. I mean, s****y diapers are the worst. Besides, she hasn't always been like this. Everyday I wake up and hope she's standing by the stove in the kitchen dancing to Presley, cooking eggs, and smiling. I don't think she'll ever be that happy again.

I walk into the store and sky is as missing from the room as his brain is missing from his cranium. I sit behind the counter and press a few buttons on the register to turn it on, along with the radio and as cold play tunes through the room I plug in the 'open' sign actually reads 'Oen' and mentally coach myself for this dreadfully boring day ahead of me.