Disclaimer: I don't own Fyedka.please don't sue me, it's torture enough!
The air at the seaport was dank, and reeked of fish and salt water. As Fyedka stepped off the boat, he was surprised at the steadiness of the ground. After weeks of living at sea, walking on the stable concrete took a bit of getting used to. He stopped and took a deep breath, inhaling his first bit of New York air.
"Ohhh," he muttered as he gulped the air. "It smells like the bottom of a Moscow fish dump. IT IS LIKE HOME SMELLS!" screamed the devastatingly handsome Russian immigrant. He fumbled around the outside of his jacket, looking for his side pocket. When he found it, he pulled out a crinkled piece of paper with something scribbled across the top.
"Audition at 10:00 A.M., at 325 3rd street," he read. Lifting his head, his sapphire blue eyes scanned his surroundings. To his left, Fyedka spotted a large clock on a building front. "Hmm, it is 9:00 already, I better get going," thought the dead-sexy Russian. "But how do I go there.?"
Before the sex god could finish his thoughts, an old, beat up, red car pulled up beside him then abruptly (and noisily) stopped. The window on the driver's side began to lower, and the motorist's face emerged. "HEY! What's cookin', good lookin'?" he said.
"Uhhh, I cook nothing. But my *babushka, she cooked. Mmm, borsch." was all Fyedka could stammer out.
The man giggled. "Oh my gawd you are just too cute!" he squealed. After pausing for a moment to observe Fyedka, he said, "Honey, you and that out- of-date fishermans's sweater look lost. You want a ride somewhere?"
"Oh yes, please," responded Fyedka with his thick accent.
"OK babe, hop in!" the man told Fyedka.
After seating himself inside the vehicle (and fastening his seat belt, of course), Fyedka took a good look at his transportation savior. Although he was seated, Fyedka could tell that the man was unusually short. He was very slender, and quite feminine. His short, dark brown hair was styled perfectly, making him look like a model from a Calvin Klein ad. Around his neck was a hot pink feather boa, which matched quite nicely with the silver lamé dress he wore also.
"Where to, hotcakes?!" the man interrupted.
Fyedka showed him the address he had clutched in his hand.
"You know, we're both in luck. That address is in the East Village, and that's where I'm headed!"
"Oh-" "Of course I wouldn't have minded driving out of the way for you," the man said, interrupting the beautiful Russian man. "Do you have a boyfriend? You know, I just broke up with my boyfriend. That little bitch cheated on me. Everything was fabulous, and then I just come home one day and he was gone. He left a note of course. 'Dear Angel, I'm leaving you. Kisses, Collins.' But that's not even the worst of it. He took my black patent leather Gucci stilettos with him. I was in shambles for a week!" rambled the man.
"Yes, that is sad," responded Fyedka. At this moment, he was pondering whether or not the man had made a mistake when he said his name was 'Angel.'
"Hey! 325 3rd Street. We're here!" Angel said in a singsong voice.
"Thank you so much.Angel." Fyedka said, gratefully.
"Anything for you, sweetie. Toodles!" Angel giggled
"Good-bye," said Fyedka as he slammed the door.
He turned and walked toward the front of the building. As he reached the doors, he began to feel nervous. Thoughts of doubts began to race through Fyedka's head, and he wondered if he should bother going through with the audition. After thinking about it for a few minutes, he decided it was best to go in, and give the audition a try. As he opened the door, Fyedka thought to himself, "I hope I make it!"
The air at the seaport was dank, and reeked of fish and salt water. As Fyedka stepped off the boat, he was surprised at the steadiness of the ground. After weeks of living at sea, walking on the stable concrete took a bit of getting used to. He stopped and took a deep breath, inhaling his first bit of New York air.
"Ohhh," he muttered as he gulped the air. "It smells like the bottom of a Moscow fish dump. IT IS LIKE HOME SMELLS!" screamed the devastatingly handsome Russian immigrant. He fumbled around the outside of his jacket, looking for his side pocket. When he found it, he pulled out a crinkled piece of paper with something scribbled across the top.
"Audition at 10:00 A.M., at 325 3rd street," he read. Lifting his head, his sapphire blue eyes scanned his surroundings. To his left, Fyedka spotted a large clock on a building front. "Hmm, it is 9:00 already, I better get going," thought the dead-sexy Russian. "But how do I go there.?"
Before the sex god could finish his thoughts, an old, beat up, red car pulled up beside him then abruptly (and noisily) stopped. The window on the driver's side began to lower, and the motorist's face emerged. "HEY! What's cookin', good lookin'?" he said.
"Uhhh, I cook nothing. But my *babushka, she cooked. Mmm, borsch." was all Fyedka could stammer out.
The man giggled. "Oh my gawd you are just too cute!" he squealed. After pausing for a moment to observe Fyedka, he said, "Honey, you and that out- of-date fishermans's sweater look lost. You want a ride somewhere?"
"Oh yes, please," responded Fyedka with his thick accent.
"OK babe, hop in!" the man told Fyedka.
After seating himself inside the vehicle (and fastening his seat belt, of course), Fyedka took a good look at his transportation savior. Although he was seated, Fyedka could tell that the man was unusually short. He was very slender, and quite feminine. His short, dark brown hair was styled perfectly, making him look like a model from a Calvin Klein ad. Around his neck was a hot pink feather boa, which matched quite nicely with the silver lamé dress he wore also.
"Where to, hotcakes?!" the man interrupted.
Fyedka showed him the address he had clutched in his hand.
"You know, we're both in luck. That address is in the East Village, and that's where I'm headed!"
"Oh-" "Of course I wouldn't have minded driving out of the way for you," the man said, interrupting the beautiful Russian man. "Do you have a boyfriend? You know, I just broke up with my boyfriend. That little bitch cheated on me. Everything was fabulous, and then I just come home one day and he was gone. He left a note of course. 'Dear Angel, I'm leaving you. Kisses, Collins.' But that's not even the worst of it. He took my black patent leather Gucci stilettos with him. I was in shambles for a week!" rambled the man.
"Yes, that is sad," responded Fyedka. At this moment, he was pondering whether or not the man had made a mistake when he said his name was 'Angel.'
"Hey! 325 3rd Street. We're here!" Angel said in a singsong voice.
"Thank you so much.Angel." Fyedka said, gratefully.
"Anything for you, sweetie. Toodles!" Angel giggled
"Good-bye," said Fyedka as he slammed the door.
He turned and walked toward the front of the building. As he reached the doors, he began to feel nervous. Thoughts of doubts began to race through Fyedka's head, and he wondered if he should bother going through with the audition. After thinking about it for a few minutes, he decided it was best to go in, and give the audition a try. As he opened the door, Fyedka thought to himself, "I hope I make it!"