Allen walked into the café with tight fitting jeans, a V-neck t-shirt, a light hooded jacket, and tennis shoes. Just because he was a notable prostitute didn't mean he had to LOOK like a slut all the time. He had a life beyond the sex industry.
"I'd like aaaaaaaaa…Club sandwich with a side of potato fries and a bowl of tomato soup please." He asked sweetly, smiling at the cash register lady.
He carefully carried the tray as his eyes hungrily stared at the steaming plate (and bowl) of food as he walked over and sat down. His mouth was already experiencing intense salivation, drool almost spilling from his frosty pink lips. He resisted temptation and pressed his hands together in prayer.
iDear Lord…Thank you for the food I am about to eat, please watch over me and forgive me for my reckless occupation. Amen./i
As ironic as it was with the white-haired boy being a prostitute and all, Allen prayed every day, he prayed for a better life where he wasn't just loved for his body or what things he could do—but for his heart and soul. This time, his prayer was short because he was frankly, ravenous. He grabbed the sandwich and took a big bite out of it. It looked like a shark-bitten surfboard.
Afterwards, Allen took smaller bites, to savor what would probably be his last full meal. The rest of the money had to go to renting out the hotel room he stayed at and getting a few bottles of water to drink and rehydrate himself after "finishing a job".
He grabbed a fat potato-slice like French fry and took a dainty bite of it, setting the sandwich in his other hand down onto the plate. His demure white wrist protruded from his jacket sleeve as he carefully sipped the soup from a small soup spoon.
There was a small jingle (which Allen ignored in his feeding frenzy) from the door as a certain starving red-head walked in for a lunch well earned.
"Welcome to Kingston Café, what can I get for you today?" came a nasal female voice.
"I'll have the tuna sub with a bag of potato chips—original, and large Pepsi—Diet." came the immediate answer.
After fishing $13.96 out of his pockets, Lavi searched for a nearby seat before spotting a flash of silver-white hair. With a small smirk, he approached the docile figure and sat down in front of it.
"May I join you?" he asked with a playful smile.
Allen choked on his soup with strangled coughs as he stared at Lavi. He brought a napkin to his lips and coughed into it before settling down. The photographer offered his Diet Pepsi with a smile.
"Need any?"
"No…thanks." He answered with a forced smile between coughs, holding up a hand in a "no thanks" gesture.
Lavi shrugged and withdrew the drink.
"Suit yourself."
The two sat in a terribly piercing awkward silence. But then again, it would've been even stranger if it WEREN'T awkward meeting a client, whom you've been intimate with, at a café where you'd probably be having your last meal of the week.
AWKKKKWARRRRRRRRRRRRD. xDD Please Review if you have the time :]