L.P.O.V
"If I've told you once, I've told you a million times. Stop winding up the bosses son, you'll be fired, Jesus Cristo." My Uncle Macros said to be, shaking his bold head. When he did that the sun made his head shiny, I'd learned not to burst out laughing when ever he did this.
Grabbing a glass I started to dry it clean, I turned back to my uncle. "What if I want to get fired, nothing interesting ever happens here," I whined, placing the glass in the cabinet. I threw the tea-towel underneath the bar and ran my tanned finger threw my thick black hair.
"Macros!" To little voices screamed running to our direction. They were two little kids – okay, not little they were about ten. How could they run in that heat? It was boiling, the sun was beating down. Well, the sun was always beating down here; it was Spain, after all.
My uncle walked out of the bar and held out his hands to they kids, one girl one boy. The girl was wearing a pink knee-length dress with white flip-flops. The boy was wearing white shorts, black flip-flops and a blue top. They both had hazel hair and bright blue eyes. Their skin was pale – but I knew it wouldn't be like that for long. It would get tanned. The kids ran into my uncles arms, covering his flowery red shorts and white t-shirt with giggles.
"Adam, Lela, why you've grown. Where is your sister?" He questioned standing up. Oh, great another giggling kid.
The kids looked at each other grabbed my uncle's hands and pulled him into the direction of the karaoke. Suddenly I heard the sweetest sound ever; it was like melted chocolate on a sweet kebab.
I followed the sound; it was a girl singing, okay, so it wasn't a bible song or a sad song. It was a song by Skye Sweetnam, but the girl's voice was truly beautiful.
I turned around the corner of the bar and looked at the stage.
I should probably explain what I was doing in a bar; I was only seventeen so I couldn't actually buy anything yet. It was a summer job my uncle got me; it was a short of punishment for getting bad grades at school. I sold the same drinks to the same people everyday no wonder it got boring.
Everyone looked the same as well, the all wore the same things and all acted the same. What was happening was different. Not many people had the guts to go o stage and do karaoke; and if they did they were usually drank.
She had waist-length gypsy-black hair and big chocolate, brown eyes. She was wearing white boot cut jeans and a pink sleeveless top. She was dancing and singing an old song called Bem, Bem Maria. By the gypsy kings. She was perfect.