I walked through the empty streets, hands in my Levi jeans. Usually, I would wear a mini-skirt, but it was March and the cool of December hasn't left us.

I could see it up ahead: the neon sign, the bright lights, the cars parked in front even though it's eleven in the evening. I begin to pick my pace up, a huge smile forming on my face. Soon, I'll be there. The sweet taste of freedom was already in my mouth (or is that the cookies I ate earlier?).

I guess I should fill you in on what's happening. Every night, I sneak out of my room and into the night of Washington D.C. to get to the café at the other side of town. It was a long walk, but it didn't matter. I liked it. I get to re-arrange my thoughts and plan everything I'm going to do in there. Today, I would read my newly bought book and order a steaming cup hot chocolate. Maybe I would even buy fries.

In a matter of minutes, I made it to the front of the café. I was slightly tired from the walk and had to stop and breathe for a moment before I could get in. It was a good thing to sign up for girl's baseball team—it strengthened my stamina, which I needed for this very activity.

I grabbed the door handle and was about to pull it until something caught my eye. At the very corner of the café, I could see a man in his early twenties slumped there like a doll. I can't exactly see his face, but he was wearing what looked like a blue sweater (the sleeves were rolled up) and beige shorts. Another drunkie?

If there was one thing that this café was famous for was drunk people. It didn't serve beer, but it was close to a bar a few stores away. The drunkies often try to walk home, but end up sleeping in front of this building.

I don't know why, but I couldn't help approaching him. I was extra, extra quiet so I wouldn't disturb him. I mean, I heard that waking drunks up was an obvious death wish from my little sister (who knew I sneak out), Madeline, who was probably just joking around. But I don't want to risk it.

Up close, the drunkie (I decided he must be drunk) seemed . . . cute. Very, very cute. He had brown, messy hair and tanned skin. Too bad he drinks.

I quietly tiptoe away from him and back to the front door of the café, taking one last glance at the drunkie before entering.

The warm café air welcomed me as the familiar noisiness of chatter filled my ears. I wanted to yell, "I'm home!" but that would attract too much attention, which I didn't want right now. For what reasons, I won't tell. If I stayed quiet, kept my head down, and minded my own business, then I'm safe.

I go to my usual spot: the very back of the café, on the last table. It was dim and if it wasn't for my various visits there, cobwebs would be scattered all over there.

I sit, crossing my legs, and open my book to the very first page. The title page, blah blah , disclaimer, blah blah, copyright, blah blah, acknowledgements—oh, oh, there! Right there! The first chapter.

I begin to read, humming as I did so, but somehow my mind kept trailing off to the drunk at the corner of the café. I don't know why, but it just did. There was just something . . . not right about him. I mean, it's just a hunch, but there was . . . an unearthly touch at his image.

Was it the beer that he drank? Does beer make you look fabulous? I don't know. I wish I did, though. But most likely, everything is a big, fat, juicy 'no.'

"I see you are here again."

I look up from my book to see a familiar face. "Chun-babe,"

Chun is this Chinese transferee in my English class. I paid absolutely no mind to her until I started my adventures to this café. Now, she's one of my best friends. How? Well, sharing a churro can get you a long way.

"I told you to stop calling me that," she whispers, a blush forming on her olive skin. "But I will pay no mind. What is your order?"

"Hot cocoa," I reply. "The usual."

"With marshmallows?" she asks as she jots down my order.

"Always," I say, smiling brightly at her.

But then, something happened: I got the urge to help the poor sap outside. I don't know why, but it felt like it was the right thing to do as a heroine. Though, it was strange. I don't usually help drunkies. I hate them, actually, very, very much.

I blink, glance out the window, and say without thinking, "Also, 5 churros and another cup of hot chocolate. Wrap the churros in a bag."

Chun raises a questioning eyebrow, but nonetheless, writes it down. She doesn't say anything, but I could tell that she wants to know why I was suddenly ordering this many things. I usually would just order a cup of hot cocoa and fries, after all.

Chun then slides her pencil on the top of her ear, right under her firm bun, and makes her way into the kitchen.

Oh. My. Goodness.

What have I done? Why am I ordering for some stranger, most importantly, a drunkie?

Because it's the right thing to do, I think. It's what a heroine does.

But still, no matter how much I try to convince myself that what I did was good, there was a part of me that told me, 'No, this is wrong.'

I shake my head. Seriously, something is wrong with me. Returning my attention back to my book, I continue to read.

I manage to read several pages before Chun comes back with my order. She sets the hot chocolates on the table, their strong, sweet scent filling my whole being as the steam rises up to the greasy ceiling. Aw, yeah, baby. Their hot chocolate is always the best.

"Thanks," I smile, shooting a grateful smile at her. I dig for some cash in my pocket, toss it on the table, and say, "Keep the change."

"Okay. Thanks, Ame." Chun grabs the money and waves goodbye, making her merry way off to another table where another customer sits.

I grab one of the hot chocolates and the bag of churros and rush outside. If I do this quickly then I could enjoy my night in peace.

The cool outside air greets me as I step into the streets, causing goosebumps to form along my arms. I turn to the side and see him, still knocked out on the side.

Slowly and cautiously, I approach him. Okay, good, good, he's still asleep. Gosh, Amelia, you're so stealthy, you could be a ninja! Too bad you're in the wrong time period.

Ever so carefully, I place the hot chocolate and churros on the hard pavement beside him. Then, like a rat being preyed upon by a cat, I skedaddle back into my safe haven.

Little did I know that that encounter will change my life forever.

A/N:

Woot! Another story. But it's just made for fun and practice. Yeah, I'm practicing on 1st person point of view. :) I hope you guys like it! Reviews help motivate. CONSTRUCTIVE criticism is welcome, too.

Happy readings, guys!