Whoo. I'm on a roll! Two stories in two days! I'm almost like Speed Racer! (Here she comes, here comes Speed Racer, she's a demon on wheels, she's a demon and she's gonna be chasin' after someone, she's gainin' on you, so you better look alive, she's busy revvin' up the powerful Mach 5...) Okay. Well then.

I own the coffee shop, the manager, the Hippies, the Beatniks, the Stiff, and Karrie. Nothing else is mine. Not even the Speed Racer song.

This is a Keast Doy. Enjoy!

Karrie sat in the Internet café, her eyes glazing over as she stared at the desk top in front of her. She absentmindedly sipped at her coffee, the sweet strains of Weird Al Yankovic pounding in her over-sized headphones. Karrie tore her eyes from the screen, which still boasted the phrase "Loading."

The manager, a gray haired, older woman with a tie-dye shirt on was arguing with some stiff in a suit that screamed, "Starch!" (the suit, not the man). A few beatniks gathered around a table, spouting off philosophies left and right and drinking black coffee. Hippies grooved out to New Age music and wove hemp, while drinking herbal teas and remedies. Still, even with her pale skin, combat boots, brown dreads, and multiple piercings in her ears, Karrie was not the strangest looking person in the café.

The large, wall-sized window in front of Karrie displayed the view of the outdoors, a city's road with brick buildings on the other side and the goods of bookshop owners prominently exhibited in large wooden boxes. The sun was shining, and some of the café's patrons sat outside.

Karrie pushed a coaster over on the table a bit, and, with a slight grunt, slammed her combat boots on top of it. The manager looked over with a frown, saw the boots, saw the coaster, smiled with recognition, and winked at her favorite customer.

'No place like home,' Karrie thought, and the tech-savvy girl closed her eyes and lost herself in a swell of accordion.

Resurfacing for a swig of coffee, Karrie checked her monitor, pleased to see that her Flash cartoon when up and ready to go. As she clicked on it, she caught a flash of green in the corner of her eye. Ignoring the cartoon, she looked over at a teenage boy that appeared to be completely dressed in purple with green skin and hair. Karrie's eyes went dreamy, like they did when she had first seen a Wi-Fi port.

'He must be Beast Boy,' she thought, watching the Teen Titan pay for a Chai tea, and suddenly turn to look at her. Karrie instantly looked down at her monitor, trying to look as if she was working on something.

She risked a peek back up, and saw the manager nod in her direction, saying something.

"Crap," Karrie muttered, as Beast Boy turned to look at her again. He smiled, and raised his eyebrows, as if asking her a question.

Karrie cocked her head to the right, trying to look noncommittal. He came over and pulled up a chair beside her.

Karrie pulled her headphones off of her ears and hung them around her neck, the tune of "Pretty Fly for a Rabbi," blasting. She contemplated hauling her boots off of the table, then decided against it.

"Hello," she said, wrapping a few of her dreads around her finger.

"Hey," Beast Boy returned.

"…is for horses. So, you're Beast Boy, then?"

"Nope. I'm Cyborg."

Karrie chuckled. "Cute. Why aren't you protecting the city?"

"No one to protect it from, yet."

"Do you only speak in sentence fragments?" Karrie asked, sipping her coffee.

"Not usually. Do you always prop your feet on top of a table in a restaurant?"

"So long as it's six-star. I don't bother in five- or four-stars."

"That's really sensible, you know that?"

"Polka Power!" started pouring out of Karrie's earphones, and she bopped along with the song. She started dancing a little bit, and while doing so, continued their conversation.

"So why'd you come and sit over here? Not to be rude or anything."

"Do you really want to know?" the morph asked her.

"That's why I asked," Karrie explained.

"It was for two reasons. First: I thought you were kind of cute. Second: that is the oldest laptop I have ever seen."

Karrie, by this time, was cabbaging. "I'm cute? I haven't heard that one before. Thanks. And Dinkius Frapitty-Frap-Frap is not old. He's vintage."

"'Dinkius Frapitty-Frap-Frap?'" Beast Boy asked, grinning.

"Yes. That's my laptop's name," Karrie said matter-of-factly. She pulled her boots off of the table.

"I see."

Silence lulled between the two teenagers. Karrie broke it, using a vein of conversation that would serve them well into the afternoon.

"So…D&D is awesome…"

"I EAT YOUR SPLEEN!" Karrie exclaimed a few hours later. She threw her fist into a rock. At the same moment, Beast Boy threw a scissors. "Ha-HA! YESSSSSSSSSSSSS!" the girl across from him cried, cabbaging again.

"Crud! That's like, the eighth…"

"Ninth."

"…time you've beaten me!"

"Great. Just great." The green boy sighed, looking glum before cracking a grin that made Karrie melt, just a little bit. Suddenly, Beast Boy's communicator went off. "Shoot!"

"Well, I guess I'll see you around, boyo¹," Karrie said, pulling her headphones off of her neck.

"Umm…Karrie?" Beast Boy asked, shifting from foot to foot.

"Ja?"

"Can I…have your phone number?"

"You could, except my Gram has no phone. Here's my email, though," Karrie said, scribbling out an address and handing to the teen.

"Thanks! I'll see you around, I guess?" Beast Boy asked.

"Yup. I'm always here," Karrie said.

"Great! I'll come back soon," the boy said, then turned into a cat and sped out of the café.

Karrie gazed after him a few moments longer, then lifted her headphones to her ears and got lost in a swell of mad guitar-kazoo duet.

Epilogue: At closing time, just before the manager headed up to her apartment over the café and ordered a take-out dinner, she headed to where Karrie was sitting.

"So, who was that boy you were talking to?" the manager asked. Karrie's pale cheeks turned just slightly pink.

"No one, Gram."

¹Boyo: affectionate, Irish term for a boy.

Isn't that sweet? Not totally "swoon"-style for romance, but a little chemistry. Hope you like it, Kaaaa-li!

Review please! Or I'll sing the Speed Racer song again! (She's gainin' on you, so you better look alive, she's busy revvin' up the powerful Mach 5...)