First Minutes in Boston.
Oz pulled his van into the parking lot of the first restaurant inside the Boston City Limits. Charlie's Bar and Grill had red booths and smelled like stale smoke that had recently been outlawed in Massachusetts. He slid into the seat and pulled his shiny new cell phone out of his pocket. It was pretty cool actaully, although it only has one number in it, Tucker's. It also had the ability to play MP3s, which was cool and it had a myriad of ring tones from the greats of rock and roll.
The plump, polyester-enclad waitress made her way to the table. She was the walking stereotype of the bad movie waitresses. She clunked down an old coffee cup and filled it to the brim. "What'll you have, hon?"
"Grilled cheese and fries, please." Oz had spent enough time working in greasy diners to know to avoid any frills.
Nodding curtly, she walked back to lean on the counter. Pulling up Tucker's number, Oz hit the send button. The answering maching picked up.
After the tone, Oz said, "Hey, uh, Tucker. Oz here. Here in town too, odd as that is. I have shirked my luddite past and await your return cell-ing."
He pressed the end button and sat back against the booth to wait for his food.
The plump, polyester-enclad waitress made her way to the table. She was the walking stereotype of the bad movie waitresses. She clunked down an old coffee cup and filled it to the brim. "What'll you have, hon?"
"Grilled cheese and fries, please." Oz had spent enough time working in greasy diners to know to avoid any frills.
Nodding curtly, she walked back to lean on the counter. Pulling up Tucker's number, Oz hit the send button. The answering maching picked up.
After the tone, Oz said, "Hey, uh, Tucker. Oz here. Here in town too, odd as that is. I have shirked my luddite past and await your return cell-ing."
He pressed the end button and sat back against the booth to wait for his food.