Second Smoke Signal

[charring]

[Cast an eyeball at the red-head on roller skates as she weaves her way in an out of cars at the drive-in diner. She works here. She probably has your order. And she's probably chewing bubblegum and wearing something similar to this. She's a nice enough car hop.

She'll mind your flip-tops and screamers. Want her number? Well, ain't that a bite. It's not gonna happen and unless your questions are about the food they serve here, she'll probably get huffy, ask if you're writin' a book and then skate off to deal with less aggravating customers. Bug her more and she'll tell you to put an egg in your shoe and beat it.

But other than that, enjoy your food!]


[ooc: as much fun as that was to write, I'm sure I got a lot of the slang wrong. Eesh. ENJOY!]

Comments

[charring]

No. [She might actually be smiling slightly, though this is more in part because he hasn't mentioned blow jobs for a few minutes.]

What's your name, anyway?

[designedtoparty]

[Just you wait. Something's bound to come up eventually... pun unintended.]

Nathan Young. You got a name, or are you as stingy with that as your number?

[charring]

[Ba-dum-tch!]

Charlie McGee.

[She's going to skate off for a moment and then return, piece of paper in her hand. It's a number. Possibly hers.] Here. Don't make me regret this, Nathan.

[designedtoparty]

[Nathan takes the paper between two fingers, slipping it into the pocket of his jacket.]

As if I would.