3,101 Miles Alternate Universe (closed)

[fukensploogin]

Because my first thread posting drew the interest of at least two wonderful writers whom I respect very much and would be honored to work with, this is an alternate universe from my other 3,101 Miles thread. I would like to see how different the stories can be even though they start from the same point.



Tommy: 24 years old, 5'10", curly brown hair and brown eyes, tan and athletic, about 170 lbs. His girlfriend recently moved out, and he now lives alone in a little box of an apartment above a seedy bar. He's a musician, but he pays the bills making coffee drinks at a funky San Francisco neighborhood coffeeshop, near the Haight. Lots of gutterpunks, yuppies, old hippies still all tripped out, musicians, artists, writers, students, bohemians, etc.

Tommy was starting to hate his job. The same old commuters, same crazy beggars harrassing him, same stupid punks who think they're cool but they're just like everyone else...

Then, on a Tuesday morning, she walked in. Natural style, ease of movement, somehow zen. Tommy had never seen her before. It had been her smile that initially cemented her in his mind and made him remember her name (as he had asked for it when she ordered her latte): Amy. That smile had been equal parts shy and lustful. Maybe he was just making shit up, but he had seen her eyes, too, and they betrayed her, as they locked eyes a few times while he was making drinks, pulling espresso shots, steaming milk.

She came in the next day, and smiled gleefully when he greeted her by name. This time they were chatting while he was making her drink.

Tommy was starting to like his job again.

The next day she came by just as he was about to take his half-hour break for lunch.


Amy is 21 years old and is a musician like Tommy, a singer-songwriter-guitarist. She is a West Coaster going to school in Boston, and is in town on her spring break.


3,101 Miles is the distance, via automobile, from San Francisco to Boston.

 

[TearsoftheWorld]

.....

 

[TearsoftheWorld]

.....

 

[Mephistophelily]

Amy wasn't one for coffee shops, but damn if she wasn't in desperate need of a good shot of caffeine to get her system going. She tried to avoid the places in Boston, finding them full of nothing but snobby commuters and people that seemed to think the world revolved around their asses. Still, at least this place wasn't as snitty as home... granted, there was still that lingering air of "higher-than-thou" in the place, but nothing so bad she wanted to scream. Stay chilled, stay calm, and just enjoy the brown gold the dude behind the counter poured into the cup. Not only was the java good for her system, but the man giving it to her wasn't giving off the whole bad vibe thing like the rest of the place. Something about him spoke to her soul.

Coming back a second time, however, didn't happen because of a caffeine fix. The guy behind the counter, Tommy... Something about him made the place seem actually homey. Comfortable... Made this whole break seem like it had finally become something worthwhile. Maybe she had finally found the muse that led her on the trip, her own little nirvana to lead her guitar... It was with Tommy. Talking with him again left her feeling the cheesily described warm-n-fuzzy that people referred to, but it was true. He really did seem to make her heart lift.

A third trip was in order. A new addiction for her now; no longer caffiene, but the other high that she received from the shop... the high she got off Tommy. The atmosphere of the shop no longer seemed to phase her when she stepped into the place- all she focused on was following that wonderful feeling that whelled up inside her.

 

[fukensploogin]

He'd been making drinks for about six hours now. He'd been thrust into the rush at 6:30, and he'd had a short break after nearly three straight hours of cooking up lattes. His cigarette had not been very satisfying this morning, but at least he'd had a silent few moments to let his mind wander away from the constant barrage of drink orders. His mind had wandered back to the same place it had been for the last few days: Amy.

He'd spent most of last night banging out tunes on his guitar, trying to find the right melody for her, but he was still all lost for the right words.

Another few hours of making drinks flew by, and soon it was just after noon and he would be off for the rest of the day. His back was sore as shit, his hands were dirty, covered in espresso and milk and syrups, and his head hurt because he had his own caffeine addiction to feed, and he had only had precious little time to actually drink any coffee for himself. Today, he hadn't had enough and he was paying for it. Moving a little slowly at this point...

But then she came in. His face lit up, his headache disappeared (for a moment), he smiled and said: "Hi Amy! How ya doin?"

 

[Mephistophelily]

The poor guy looked ready to pass out, Amy thought to herself with a smirk as she settled down at the counter. Was she just being foolish to keep coming in here like this, just to oogle the counterman? No, it felt like more than that. Something... far more than that.

"Doin' pretty good, Tommy. Tryin' to find my muse again- and god knows its not hiding in that hellhole hotel room I took out. Planes overhead don't exactly lend to the whole creative experience. This place really seems to be the only safehaven for my mind anymore...." She trailed off a bit, watching his hands work on the machines, gliding against the cardboard cups and filling up the orders. She could just imagine what those fingers could do to a guitar- and far more than just that.

*Order something, you idiot!,* her brain screamed. *Stop staring and order! You can think about that stuff later!*

"Hey, ahhh, could I just get a black coffee? Little bit of a, ha, leftover from last night is lingering." She tapped her left temple, a slightly meek smirk on her face. "I found my minibar at two am. Had to drown out the planes somehow...." She paused as he moved again, watching his hands once more. God those were strong hands. Firm yet gentle, a strength to them that also seemed calming and so sensual-

"When do you get off?," She blurted out, reddening slightly as she realized how that sounded. "Off from work, I mean," She corrected, smiling at him. "I was thinking that maybe.. I could get a tour of the area from someone with the same mindset as me..." *That, and a chance to be with you without the counter in the way would be absolutely wonderful...*

 

[fukensploogin]

His heart raced when she asked him to show her around town. He'd been asked out a couple of times by customers, but he'd always opted to keep the counter between him and them, keep it all professional. But this girl... there was no way he could say no to her.

"There's a lot of people come out here searching for their muse," Tommy said, over his shoulder as he poured her a cup of the New Guinea coffee. A dark roast, brewed strong, smooth and heady, but enough kick to stand up to a decent dose of milk.

"It's on the house," he said, waving away her money. "Maybe that'll open your eyes enough to find your muse." He took a look at his watch. "I was actually supposed to get off five minutes ago," he said. He turned to his co-worker. "I'm getting out of here, my shift is done." He winked at Amy real quick as he turned back to the espresso machine. He quickly brewed himself up a double shot of the high-octane stuff. He poured himself a cup of coffee in a paper to-go cup, but left enough room to drop the espresso in and add a nice fat drop of milk. He took a drink of his doctored coffee and smiled. He set it down next to Amy's cup, across the counter, and said: "I'll be right back," pulling off his apron and heading to the back of the coffee shop. He disappeared into the back room and returned a minute later, wearing a black leather jacket and fishing through his pockets. He walked over to her, sliding into the seat next to her.

"You know they tore down all the good old ballrooms. But we still got a lot of the good old bars. And now the pot is halfway legal."