"Speaking of work, I gotta get a job. Im determined to work as a waiter for my first job." - Frenchbull, December 5th, 8:55 PM.
"When are you gonna get a job?"
The words froze Frenchie in place, not this again. His mom was still harassing him about getting a job. Over and over, he heard it every single day, ever since he had turned sixteen.
Frenchbull sighed, he grabbed his coat and left the house, he was tired of this, and he felt like if he heard his mothers rant one more time he would explode.
"What do I even want to do... Screw that, what even can I do...?" Frenchie thought to himself. After all, what kind of person would hire a barely sixteen year old kid?
As Frenchie walked the cold downtown streets, he pondered the thought. Well, at least he began to ponder the thought, before a loud, heavily Italian accented voice, interrupted him.
"AND YOU STAY GONE, YUR DONE FOR! KEEP YA NASTY ASS AWAY FROM THIS CAFE, OR YA WONT BE ABLE TO WALK HERE WITHOUT A CANE!"
Frenchie turned the corner, trying to find where the voice came from, and spotted a large man standing at the door to what seemed like some sort of busted up Café. The man smelled like smoke, and a small bit of his large mustache was missing and frizzy at the end, as if burnt off.
"AY BOY, YA WANT A JOB?" The man shouted out to him, as he was quickly noticed.
Before Frenchie could even respond, he was dragged inside, and an apron was thrown over his head.
END OF CHAPTER NOTES :
It is 12:24 now, and I am just now figuring out where this is gonna go.
FUCK