Bridge Street.

Meet The Others

George is back from lunch, the head chef has gone for his lunch, the restaurant is empty, usually it is between three to six in the afternoon, you might get the odd customer. Some Uk rap is playing through the portable speaker, while George wearing latex blue gloves on both hands, is putting some grated cheddar from a full container into half-blue bags on red scales as they read different numbers each time but have to be close to eighty grams. He will split the entire container in half, eighty grams are for the smoked haddock risotto, and the other half will be forty grams, which is for the Cobb salad. Jackson sneakily walks into the kitchen, wearing his casual clothes, but George does not notice him, too busy dividing the cheddar. Jackson tries to scare him, but by the look on George’s face, he isn’t bothered.

George says, “Ciao bratr, got to try harder to scare me.”

Jackson asks, "Ciao bratr, I will get you! How are you?”

“No chance, bro. I feel good today, payday, so I treated myself to a pack of smokes. How are you, brother?”

Jackson asks, “Every payday you do that, anyway; I am good bratr, busy today?”

George responds, "Always, I work for it otherwise just paying the bills, got to treat myself. Usual Friday lunch bratr.”

"I second that; got to treat yourself, quick break?”

George responds, “Of course bro, one minute.”

George takes his blue gloves off after he puts the divided cheddar into separate boxes lined with blue bags.George goes to the pizza section where the different day labels are on the wall; he rips two Monday labels off, takes the blue Barkley’s Bank pen from behind his ear, writes the date on them, and after peeling them, sticking each one on the divided cheddar tubs.

The next day has begun like the last weather-wise; the only difference is George is standing at a bus stop not far from his home, and the obvious thing is that he has changed his clothes. An elderly lady with a walking stick stands not far away, waiting for the same bus, I would presume. There are houses all around opposite the bus stop through the middle is like an island with long green grass that could do with a trim, also there are trees dotted up it which was good to act as goal posts, for when George used to play footie growing up with his younger brother. Still, you have to be careful where or how you shoot the football because there are parked cars all along its left side, luckily they never smashed a car window; defiantly would have run back indoors and then hoped the person would not have came knocking at the door, would have not of mattered to George’s pocket money if mum had to pay for the smashed car window, as he did not get any, his parents are not made of money, makes him appreciate what he earns; also George smashed a window when he was younger playing with a golf ball when he stayed at his dads that lived down a cul-de-sac, broke through some man's front door window.

A bus comes around the corner, followed by a dark blue saloon car, as the bus pulls into the lay-by to pick up its first passengers for this trip around. The bus doors open, and George lets the elderly lady go first; the blue car pulls around the bus, and George puts his thumb up in the air towards the people in the honking vehicle because they are his next-door neighbours. The elderly lady sits in a seat at the front, while George hops onto the bus.

He asks the bus driver, “How’s it going bud? Can I have a day rider, please?”

The bus driver responds, “Certainly, four pounds fifty, please.”

George passes him a fiver that he took earlier from his left jean pocket, passing it to him through the hole in the glass, which protects us from the violent bus drivers; of course, I’m joking apart from the road rage they may encounter because of other idiots on the road. The bus driver fiddles around on the ticket machine for a second; a ticket prints out from the device that George takes after he takes his fifty-pence piece change.

George says, “Cheers.”

He goes deeper into the bus to find a seat at the back.

The bus arrives at the city centre, and more people have got on the bus through its journey. It stops at the second bus stop out of four bus stops that are in a row. An Asian couple join the queue of people which are waiting to get onto the bus, George grabs ahold of his backpack, putting it on where it belongs. He walks down the walkway of the bus, joining the line of different people getting off; still, some people are sitting down; that elderly lady that got on with George got off three stops back.

George says, “Thank you.”

George puts his right earphone back in, and after fiddling around on his mobile for a second, a favourite song starts to play through his headphones. He starts walking through the town towards his place of work, walking past a bank while feeling the vibe of the rapper in his ears. A guy in raggedy tattered clothes begging at the side of the street, more people are around this morning. Across the road is Christ College; you can see the beautiful collection of architectural buildings; the attention to detail is incredible at these colleges, also churches in my city of Cambridge.

As George is walking to his place of work, David2Marseille, he lights his smoke after putting the lighter back in his pocket. Some broken glass on the pavement from a smashed bottle, most probably from a messy night, most likely the cause of George’s flat tire, two open cans of some branded alcohol in front of the wall that George is walking past, I am sure the walking homeless, will scoop them up before the council put them in the bin or anyone for that matter walking past them, people experiencing homelessness would have to sniff them before consumption, just in case it’s piss. I’m not judging them; I wouldn't do it but live your movie, mate.

Jackson is sitting on the restaurant's step. They sideway bump fists after George takes a cigarette from behind his ear. He lights it while Jackson stands up; George takes the pack of cigarettes out from his pocket, offering Jackson one; he accepts; taking the packet off of George, three empty bins to the side of the restaurant's step, Jackson passes the pack of cigarettes back to George, while Jackson sparks the smoke, George puts the packet back into his pocket.

Jackson asks, “Bro, what happened? I see you walking up here, not biking?”

George asks, “Flat tire, bro. How are you?”

Dressed casually, Jackson responds, “I am alright, yourself?”

George is watching passers-by.

He responds, “Not too bad, bro. I can’t wait for my day off tomorrow.”

Jackson says, “Oh right, I hope you have a nice day; I have Monday off.”

George asks, “You up to much?”

Jackson asks, “Treating my lady to some dinner after we will go to the cinema, bro?”

George asks, “Nice, what are you thinking of watching? I’m seeing my daughter, going to pick her up from her mum’s; I will take her to the park and then a bite to eat; she likes to make her Sub her way.”

A black six-seater taxi pulls up.

Carlo the pasta chef, alongside the Romanian kitchen porter called Cezar. They all smack their hands together, bumping shoulders, while the black taxi door slides open, and the assistant manager, Aida, gets out from the back.

She says in her thick French accent, “Sorry, guys, for being late. I had an early morning of drinking.”

The chefs grab the bins while she walks up to the restaurant doors with keys in her hand to unlock the white doors. Carlo is from Brazil, and he has short-styled brown hair, dark brown eyes, a few tattoos of loved ones on his arms, and a wolf tattoo on his left upper arm; he is wearing shades with a black vest top and grey tracks bottoms. Five o’clock shadow, he is a good geezer, but when pissed off, he turns into a real-life pissed-off wolf mate. I would like him on my side if s**t kicks off.

We can hear old-school garage music playing from the portable speaker. George, along with the other chefs, are dressed in an all-black chef uniform; the time is 11:37am. They have nearly finished prep for the upcoming lunch service. There is steaming cooked pasta in a massive sieve in a big silver saucepan. Aida puts a tray with coffees down on top of a silver top chest freezer.

Aida shouts over the music, “Coffee, guys!”

She walks out of the kitchen; you can see her anchor tattoo showing on either side of her black dress's strap, which is on her left shoulder blade, her shoulder-length dark blonde hair, blue eyes, she has a curvy figure. Jackson picks up an expresso from the black tray, turning the music down.

Jackson asks, “Smoke break before the place opens?”

George says, “I will never pass up an opportunity to smoke, brother.”

While George takes his apron off, Jackson grabs his packet of cigarettes from the side.

They are standing outside the kitchen door; George is putting three cubes of sugar in his coffee, stirring with a long silver spoon, while the other three chefs are sitting in a booth with red leather seats; they are rolling cigarettes. Amelia, a waitress, is walking towards them, a beautiful petite figure with bushy ginger hair and light green eyes; she is wearing light blue jeans with a Liverpool football team shirt (Not as good as Cambridge United or Manchester United), but, that is where the rest of her family is from, she is young with attractive facial features.

She says, “Morning all.”

She puts her bag down on the table after Amelia hugs George. They all go for a cigarette apart from Amelia because, in her spare time, she does ballet, so she does not smoke got to stay fit.