Rockstar Romance

I open my eyes to another day of this random life of mine. I enjoy a few seconds of locking eyes with the geourgeous face that looks down on me from the poster on my ceiling. Ah – to dream... Then one glance at my phone tells me I've snoozed my alarm one too many times – again. I jump out of bed and make my way to the bathroom through a maze of heaps of clothing, books and empty cardboard boxes that I'm gonna take to the recycling containers tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow. Or the day after that. Trying to avoid stepping on my cat who conveniently sleeps in places regular people walk, I scoop up a few items of clothing that look clean enough to wear and reach my destination: my tiny bathroom. I give myself exactly seven and a half minutes to get ready. I can't be late for work again. It's 8:55 when I get off the subway at Star Court Station. I hurry along the side of the enourmous mall which is severals street blocks long. Through the staff entrance at 8:58, up the stairs, down to the food court – I unlock the front door of the Pastry Parlor at 9:00 am sharp. Made it. I quickly go through my routine of changing into my work attire, washing and desinfecting my hands and starting the ovens. Most of the baked goods we sell here are pre-made, my job is placing them in the oven, putting them on the pastry shelves and – most of all – selling them. I'm not exactly a sales expert. I just needed a job to make it through College, and working at the Parlor comes with the benefit of taking unsold pastries home for free at the end of each day. It has helped me make ends meet more than once. I place the first round of frozen pastry in the ovens, start the coffee machine, prepare cups, lids and straws and wipe down the sirup bottles one more time for good measure. Around me, the food court slowly wakes from its slumber. I wave as Mrs Lee, the owner of the vietnamese street food place across the food court, and her staff Elton walk past the Parlor. I don't exactly have friends among my fellow food vendors, but Mrs Lee and Elton are somewhat close to it. Mrs Lee is a sweet little lady in her early sixties. She could have retired already, but she insists on coming in every morning to make sure her shop is set up for the day. Once the noon rush is over, she usually leaves the store to Elton or one of the other kids who work here to cover their bills – just like me. Elton is a quiet guy who doesn't speak much, but he comes over every once in a while to get a macchiato or espresso and he's always been polite enough. That's really the only thing I have to say about him, though. He's not what you would call noticeable. Then again, I haven't really noticed anyone since that day... the day I turned sixteen and went to my first ever Frocks concert and my life changed forever... The Frocks. Arguably a stupid name, but it works for this town. They started off as a small garage band, four teenagers with guitars, you name it. Throughout the years they made their way up through band battles, sing offs, graduation parties and summer festivals. I was sixteen when my friends gifted me a ticket for that year's summer jam – a three day local music festival in one of our city parks. We strolled around the park for most of the second day, checking out some singers and songwriters, buying overpriced drinks and street food. „The one thing we CAN NOT MISS this weekend is the Frocks“, my friend Lisa had told me. I had heard of them, obviously, but wasn't too interested. My life at that point revolved around books, my cat Watson and school. The area in front of the stage was packed when we got there. I had never seen so many people in one spot. It happened when the band entered the stage, even before the first chord was played. The drummer, bass player and keyboarder all took their places, laughing and waving at the audience. They were buzzing with excitement and energy. They were followed by the Frocks' frontman: guitarist and singer Lucas. He was wearing a black leather jacket and faded blue jeans, a pair of worn looking boots and no accessories. His dark brown hair could have used a trim or at least a wash, and it wouldn't have hurt him to look up and at least give the audience a smile. At least that's what I was thinking when he looked up, and just like that, I was gone. The minute my eyes met his I was lost in this deep blue ocean of emotion and I haven't been able to swim free of it to this day.