Post by Malcolm Gaines on Sept 12, 2012 21:39:40 GMT -5
It was another cold and rainy night in the streets of New York City. It had been pretty shitty out the past few days but today they received a monster storm which even flooded some of the streets earlier today. Helluva way to end the day.
Malcolm was now seated in the drivers seat of his black and white 1968 Dodge Coronet. After a long day of work he was headed back home, but first he needed to stop for something to eat. His car came to a halt, looking at the near deserted streets around him, eyes washing over the various neon lights that lit the surrounding area. He wasn't in the mood for McDonald's or any other fast food joint. He wasn't really sure what he was in the mood for.
A nice glass of Coke. That sounded like heaven.
Malcolm turned the knob on his radio, humming along to California Dreamin' as he rode down the long street of green lights. The engine of his Coronet roared as he maneuvered around a turn and shifted gears, making a right into the parking lot of the Byrd's Nest, a local diner which was pretty quiet at these hours(About one in the morning.)
He killed the engine, turning beside him to look over his cluttered seat. His hands ran over various papers and envelopes, stacking them in a neat pile before opening his glove box and slotting the stack in along with his checkbook. The last things on the seat was his pen, which he placed in his coat pocket and a Smith & Wesson Model 19 which he placed in the glove-box before swiftly closing it and getting out of the car, his taste buds dying for a glass of vanilla Coke.
Malcolm pulled open the front door to the small establishment, a bell at the top jingling as he entered scanned the room. The only other patrons in the place was the waitress who was at the register, an elder man and his wife seated by the window, whom Malcolm recognized and waved at the pair. Also in the room was a third man in the far corner reading a magazine who glanced up to meet eyes with Mickey, who nodded towards the man before stepping over to the counter.
Today Malcolm was dressed in a black button up shirt, a coat and slacks, which were all abit soggy from the rain. After removing his coat he hung it on the back of his chair and took a seat, setting the newspaper he'd brought in with him on the counter. Also on his person this evening was his leather shoulder holster, containing his blued Colt MKIV series 80 with his custom pearl grips. He was a regular to this diner, so people weren't alarmed at the fact he had a weapon on him, his 'shield' visible at his belt just in case anyone got wary.
This diner was a rather nice place to come and relax. It was quiet, cozy and often had friendly patrons to strike up a conversation with, which made for great pastime. If only everywhere was like this.
The waitress was now standing opposite of him with a pen and notepad in hand. She gave a warm smile before asking what he'd have. "Ah, Coke. No ice." He returned her smile and reached for his newspaper, folding it out and read today's headlines. "Lions on the Loose" Malcolm raised an eyebrow and scanned over the article about a shootout before laying it back on the counter with a sigh and reached for his glass which now sat before him. "Thank you."
The man took a long pull from his drink, setting it back down with an 'ah' before returning to his paper. Also in the headlines was Tom Cruise's personal issues, the Yankee's lost another game and a breakthrough in something he didn't give two fucks about. Aren't there more important things to make the paper than Tom Cruise?
His thoughts interrupted Malcolm turned to see a newcomer enter the diner, the bells jingling about as he stepped in. He didn't recognize the man, turning back around and took another sip from his drink. The new guy sat one chair over from Malcolm and placed his order, still dripping from the rain. "Some night, huh." Malcolm would say, slumping back in his chair with an exhausted sigh.
Malcolm was now seated in the drivers seat of his black and white 1968 Dodge Coronet. After a long day of work he was headed back home, but first he needed to stop for something to eat. His car came to a halt, looking at the near deserted streets around him, eyes washing over the various neon lights that lit the surrounding area. He wasn't in the mood for McDonald's or any other fast food joint. He wasn't really sure what he was in the mood for.
A nice glass of Coke. That sounded like heaven.
Malcolm turned the knob on his radio, humming along to California Dreamin' as he rode down the long street of green lights. The engine of his Coronet roared as he maneuvered around a turn and shifted gears, making a right into the parking lot of the Byrd's Nest, a local diner which was pretty quiet at these hours(About one in the morning.)
He killed the engine, turning beside him to look over his cluttered seat. His hands ran over various papers and envelopes, stacking them in a neat pile before opening his glove box and slotting the stack in along with his checkbook. The last things on the seat was his pen, which he placed in his coat pocket and a Smith & Wesson Model 19 which he placed in the glove-box before swiftly closing it and getting out of the car, his taste buds dying for a glass of vanilla Coke.
Malcolm pulled open the front door to the small establishment, a bell at the top jingling as he entered scanned the room. The only other patrons in the place was the waitress who was at the register, an elder man and his wife seated by the window, whom Malcolm recognized and waved at the pair. Also in the room was a third man in the far corner reading a magazine who glanced up to meet eyes with Mickey, who nodded towards the man before stepping over to the counter.
Today Malcolm was dressed in a black button up shirt, a coat and slacks, which were all abit soggy from the rain. After removing his coat he hung it on the back of his chair and took a seat, setting the newspaper he'd brought in with him on the counter. Also on his person this evening was his leather shoulder holster, containing his blued Colt MKIV series 80 with his custom pearl grips. He was a regular to this diner, so people weren't alarmed at the fact he had a weapon on him, his 'shield' visible at his belt just in case anyone got wary.
This diner was a rather nice place to come and relax. It was quiet, cozy and often had friendly patrons to strike up a conversation with, which made for great pastime. If only everywhere was like this.
The waitress was now standing opposite of him with a pen and notepad in hand. She gave a warm smile before asking what he'd have. "Ah, Coke. No ice." He returned her smile and reached for his newspaper, folding it out and read today's headlines. "Lions on the Loose" Malcolm raised an eyebrow and scanned over the article about a shootout before laying it back on the counter with a sigh and reached for his glass which now sat before him. "Thank you."
The man took a long pull from his drink, setting it back down with an 'ah' before returning to his paper. Also in the headlines was Tom Cruise's personal issues, the Yankee's lost another game and a breakthrough in something he didn't give two fucks about. Aren't there more important things to make the paper than Tom Cruise?
His thoughts interrupted Malcolm turned to see a newcomer enter the diner, the bells jingling about as he stepped in. He didn't recognize the man, turning back around and took another sip from his drink. The new guy sat one chair over from Malcolm and placed his order, still dripping from the rain. "Some night, huh." Malcolm would say, slumping back in his chair with an exhausted sigh.
