Your name is Dirk Strider, and you're about to fall asleep. Between DJing, getting into rap battles with Squarewave while you try to go to sleep, and shuttling Roxy home, you haven't gotten sleep in two days. Roxy. You wish she would stop drinking, both for her health and your sleep cycles. Getting into your old Fiat, you start to drive home for some primo shuteye.
You jolt upright as someone honks at you, realizing you fell asleep.
Fuck.
You pull over, thanking the parking gods that you don't have to drive around for a spot, ducking into the nearest coffee shop. Bleary-eyed, the gold and cream walls reflect off your shades but they don't register, mint-condition Indiana Jones and Noir film posters going unrecognized as you mumble "Triple espresso." At the barista, who is FAR too cheerful for someone working at six am. You just make out his nametag, "Jake", who hands you your drink and wishes you a "great morning, hope you feel less tired!". You'd be annoyed at his assuming your energy levels if "tired" wasn't a huge understatement of the soul crushing, shortcircuiting, nerve numbing "tiredness" you were feeling.
You sit in the back corner, staring at your espresso but too tired to pick it up. You manage to lift it to your lips once, eyebrow twitching at the bitter taste but it lets you keep your eyes open. Another sip. You sit back in the cushioned, wicker chair as your stomach warms up from the frigid winds outside, caffeine making your pulse slowly doped up.
"Hey, you all right mate?" A chipper voice with the slightest accent that you can't quite place wakes you up and you see Jake leaning over the table towards you. Rubbing your eyes, you ask "I'm sorry about that, I was up all night yesterday." He raises his eyebrows, and you realize what you just implicated. Damn, you're significantly less cool half asleep. Not that you can't roll with this. "I DJ." You say, smirking as his eyebrows lower again. "I'd have let you sleep, but I'm going to lunch soon, and Jane might get annoyed. Sorry!" Lunch? He let you nap for nearly five hours. As you slide into the ironically bright pink coat that does its best to make you look like a douche, Jake sets a cup in front of you. "On the house, seems like you need it." "Thanks." You say, wondering if that was nice or an insult. It occurs to you as you walk out that you kinda acted like a prick. Oh well. It's not like you're ever going back.
A/N: This is just a preview; the other chapters are coming soon!