Wealth and Taste

Burning Rubber 
#1
Friday night in mid-October meant that it was getting frosty, and that it was the time of year where no matter what dinky town you were in, you would hear a marching band playing somewhere, and the sound of garbled loudspeaker in the distance. High school football, baby: supremely important until you hit age 19, at which point it would never fucking matter again.

Pete liked football a lot, the amateur stuff especially. But working for the district meant that attending games required a level of good behavior that was not completely true to her nature. If she wanted to relive her glory days, she couldn't do it cheering respectfully in the stands and, I don't know, not giving the assistant coach a handy behind the announcer's box. It just lost some of the magic.

Which was all to say...she was not in attendance. Instead she had roved outward, to the pleasantly lame far reaches of Avondale, where, as a thought experiment, she had started picturing herself and her crew. And the loudspeaker and stadium lights called her over, to watch loud, beautiful bike racing and rub elbows with all the sad old men in attendance. What a nightmare, to be so old and alone and bored! What sad deflated lives they had ended up with! To keep herself from getting depressed she made a wager with a perky one, although his good mood went up like a whiff of smoke the moment Peter's pick tore through the finish line. Five hundred bucks, bay-bee, pay up!!

Except he didn't! He really didn't want to. So she had to menace him out of plain sight and make a convincing case she'd slit his belly open if he did not, immediately, divest his wallet. Which he did, and so Pete came into the possession of two hundred sour, sweaty ill-gotten dollars.

All in all, a moderately good Friday. She pocketed the cash with a cheerful whistle, turning on her heel. Next up was a taster's flight of corn dogs!
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#2
Well. Sheridan had been fired from his pizza delivery job. It was probably just as well anyway. The boss had been a dick and the pizza wasn't that great anyway. Besides, calling the business "Checkers?" Who were they trying to fool, anyway? Domino's would always be superior. His wallet was going to be hurting for the next couple of weeks, but at least now he had more time to himself again!

And where might he find himself on this chilly Friday night? Why, at Burning Rubber, of course. While Sheridan wasn't into any sort of racing scene, he was into was big crowds and excitement of just about any kind. So naturally he had to check it out. There were definitely a lot of rough and tumble looking individuals, most of whom Sheridan was pretty sure he could outrun in the off chance he pissed any of them off. Seemed a lot of betting and the occasional scuffles were going on, and if he'd had the funds, he would have considered partaking. But bills came first. Well bills and... Speaking of pizza...

It was getting up in the night and Sheridan hadn't eaten anything but some stale cereal, a couple of cups of microwavable mac and cheese, and half a bag of Doritos (Ah, the perks of adulthood..!). Needless to say, it was well past dinnertime. He'd had some fun sitting on some bleachers and people watching, but now he wriggled his way through the crowd, making his way to the concessions. Fuck that Checkers guy, but some pizza really did sound good right about now...
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#3
Sheridan had the good luck of choosing to get in line behind some dumbass ordering ten corn dogs. So she could put them between her fingers like Wolverine claws! Except, loading up from a concession stand worker who was already done with her shit, Pete realized that she had messed up the math somehow. Ten fingers, yes, but only eight spaces between them, and...well, it was unwieldy, all right, it was a big fuckin' mess. Struggling but entertained, she turned around and propositioned the person immediately behind her. "Hey, you want a couple a these?" She displayed the bouquet of fried meat and corn bread alluringly.
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#4
Sheridan had just pulled out his phone and was about to check in on his Snapchat, but hearing the order for ten corn dogs made him look back up. The tall woman before him was certainly excited from what he could sense, almost as excited as the worker behind the counter was disgruntled. Poor guy probably just wanted the night to be over, but the queue for food was far from short. He could relate to that, but he gave the back of the woman's head a bemused smirk nonetheless.

The lady turned and he moved to step up to the counter at the offer of some free corn dogs. He blinked in mild surprise, but he was never one to pass up some ubhealthy breaded free eats. "Uh, yeah! Sure! If they aren't for someone else, that is. You need help with the rest? Or like, a little tray or something?" The array of corn dogs did indeed harken back Wolverine's claws, but he hadn't realized that was their sole purpose this entire time to begin with.
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#5
Pete's good mood blossomed as the kid accepted her offer; she lowered some dogs his way and grinned wide. "Nah, the challenge is important. But like take three, I think my eyes were bigger than my stomach." If given the opportunity, she would unload the food on him and rearrange her own portion, all the while clocking his clothes, likely interests, probable income. "They don't serve beer here, do you know?"
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#6
It wasn't pizza, but man, those corn dogs looked hella fatty and scrumptious. He graciously accepted the food, though he fumbled one and nearly dropped it. He laughed at his own near-flub. "Ohoho, dude, thanks!"

As Pete looked him over, she'd see his clothing was well worn and probably cheap. His jeans were washed out and ripped, but not in the fashionable way. His white t-shirt, which donned the text "Peter Pan the Musical" and a silhouette of said character, hung untucked and wrinkled from his scrawny frame. His muted blue and purple jacket was obviously much too thin for the chill of this weather, but he only shivered occasionally. The elbows of the jacket were faded from use.

He used one of the corn dogs to point off to the side. "I think the stall just over there's got the drinks. Since you gave me these, want me to get you a beer?" He figured he could try to return the favor. Unless, of course, she decided to be like Gaston and have like... ten beers. RIP wallet.
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#7
So, from everything she saw...she already liked him. He was young, and Pete had a perennial interest in collecting strays — if only any of them stuck around! He even offered to buy them drinks, which was sweet, because was he even 21? She shook her head at him with a certain patriarchal generosity, then bit into a corn dog and lost a second to basal ganglia-level satisfaction at the experience. Opened her eyes again and chewed. "You know what, don't sweat it. I just won two hundred bucks off a race, so let's see how much we can spend at this dump. What's your name?"

Letting him talk gave her the opportunity to take another wolfish bite and walk them to the next concession.
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