Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
He grunts and shakes his head without looking up. “There are no openings.”
“None at all?” I ask, my voice lilting with hope. “What about as a barback? Or a dishwasher?”
I can wash a dish as good as anybody.
“None at all,” he replies harshly before he pockets his phone and prepares to check in the two employees walking up the sidewalk behind me.
Right. No jobs means no jobs. I could stand here pestering the guy, but from his sharp glare, I can tell I wouldn’t make much headway. Even still, I try once more after the two employees have disappeared into the tunnel.
“Is there a manager I could speak to just in case?”
My hopeful smile says, Please take pity on me.
“No point. He will give you the same answer.”
Lovely.
I squeeze my eyes closed and try to suppress my overwhelming disappointment before I hike my bag up on my shoulder and do an about-face.
What to do now? Find work elsewhere? I’d rather not; Aura seems like the most alluring option. Maybe that bouncer’s shift will end soon and someone more sympathetic will take his place. I could try to play dirty, find somewhere to change and doll myself up a bit. It could be that bouncer took one look at me and decided I wasn’t Aura material. I glance down at my sundress. It’s short and cute, accentuating my long legs. The thin spaghetti straps are playful, and my untamable cleavage doesn’t hurt, either. Though it wasn’t intentional when I got dressed this morning, I now realize all my best physical assets are already on display, so to say; I don’t think an outfit change would do me any good.
I walk down the street and turn the corner just to ensure the bouncer doesn’t get the pleasure of witnessing my self-indulgent pity party. Once I’m out of sight, I lean back against the wall, drop my duffel between my legs, and try to think.
It’s surprisingly hard. My brain is fried after this morning’s events. I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to get it together. I have to find a place to stay tonight. That’s imperative. I pull out my phone and start looking up hostels. There’s no shortage of them around me, but it’s not as simple as picking one from a list. The best-rated ones are already full, and what few remain are either too sketchy or extremely overpriced. In the back of my mind, I know I don’t have to find another hostel. I can afford a luxury resort, an entire room all to myself, a hot shower, a tamper-proof locker to store my money, but it feels like staying at a place like that would be equivalent to calling it quits. If I wanted to take a fancy vacation, I could have done that without all this trouble.
This summer is about Winnie, and she wouldn’t take the easy route.
I chew on my bottom lip, anxiously scrolling through hostel options. Finally I land on one I’m seriously considering. It’s a little run-down, but it’s only half a mile from where I am, close enough that I could save the euros and walk there rather than trying to find a taxi. And I can always scope it out before I decide. There’s nothing to lose, so I grab my bag, checking the directions on my phone as I step forward. Suddenly a body slams directly into me.
I swerve and tumble down onto the sidewalk, mostly landing on top of the poor stranger underneath me.
“Shit,” I say in tandem with her explosive “Bollocks!”
Immediately I know I’m mostly fine. I’ll manage to come away with a scrape along my shin. There’s a bit of blood, but nothing a Band-Aid can’t fix.
“Shite. Arse. Bloody hell!” The stranger rattles off every curse word under the sun in a posh British accent just before she winces in pain as she tries to stand.
“Here,” I say, bending over to offer help. She takes it, and once she’s back on her feet, we both look down to assess the damage.
Both of her knees are skinned and bleeding much worse than mine. The palm of her right hand is scraped pretty badly as well, and the items she was holding are now scattered across the sidewalk. I grab her phone quickly and breathe a sigh of relief that the screen didn’t crack. The blue suede high heels she was clutching didn’t fare so well, though. One made it out fine, but the other now sits upside down in a pile of unidentifiable brown street goo. It could be melted ice cream, it could be human excrement—who’s to say.
Her shoulders sag as her gaze lands on her shoe. “No, no, no.” Her voice cracks with despair. “This is not happening!”
“Oh god. I’m so so sorry. Here.” I rush forward to save her shoe before she can, carefully pinching the tip of the heel between my thumb and index finger. The squelching sound produced as I lift it up and out of the mystery liquid is enough to make my stomach roil.