C’mon, Vee. You’re better than going to that damn office every day and letting Ms. Wintour boss ya around. Why don’t ya just get the hell outta here and go see the world on your own terms? I mean, if anyone fuckin’ deserves it, it’s you, Vee.
Her younger brother’s voice rang in her ears as she drove her trusted Harley down the roads of some state. So far she had braved the sticky Southern heat and paid a long overdue visit to a distant relative she was pretty fond of. She then went west and drove along the plains of the midwest, hitting every state in the middle she possibly could.
And now she was somewhere in California, maybe? All she knew was that she was starving, and she passed by a place that had a line of motorcycles at the front and had a smell that was calling her name. Sure it looked like a seedy place where nothing good could ever happen, but she had seen worse.
Viola turned around in the middle of the road and pulled her bike up to park it. She kicked the kickstand down, swung her leg over and made sure her bike was stationary before removing her helmet and shaking her hair out. She could already tell that she was getting some stares, but she didn’t give a shit. She was used to it at this point.
She went through the doors and she walked straight towards the bar, her give-no-fucks attitude plastered right on her pretty face. She sat at the stool and nodded a hello to the bartender, figuring this was a place that didn’t have a menu.
“Do ya have burgers here,” she asked her voice hinting at a Brooklyn accent that clearly screamed ‘I’m not from around here.’ “Okay then, get me a burger with...whatever ya put on it and a side of fries. And get me a Scotch straight up. And if ya have hot wings, I’ll probably order those too. We’ll see how hungry I still am after the burger.”
Viola could feel a persistent pair of eyes on her as she drank her Scotch, and she turned to look at the guy with a raised eyebrow.
