April. It's an average month in Florida, and there's nothing of importance to me. I just know that standardized tests have concluded thanks to earlier test times, and that all remaining tourists are northerners who have spring break tremendously late. It's the perfect time for not feeling crowded.
Of course, I work across from the beach; in one of its busiest areas where I'm pretty much doomed to feel crowded if any tourists decide to look around. It's a beach supply store, and that's where I sit right now, flicking a guitar pick and mentally acting like I'm playing a large, acoustic guitar. I quietly sigh, and check the clock on the computer where I check out anyone whom purchases anything. It's four-twenty-six. Just four minutes, and then I can go home. My younger and only sister Lucy should be home by now, as if she didn't have to attend school from seven in the morning to one o'clock in the afternoon because it's required that students attend six hours of school during weekdays, and the county school board doesn't own the money to pay teachers any longer. It's actually quite sad, and a little irritating because it means all of the high school students are forced to wake up at five in the morning in order to look presentable for school. I've personally ceased trying; it gives me an extra half hour of sleep when I don't do my hair in some crazy format.
I look at my hair through the reflection the old and dusty monitor shows me; my reflection shows my bulged, rectangular glasses and short, light brown hair.
I sigh once again, this time louder, and I notice the time on the bottom of the screen reads four-thirty exactly. Thank goodness, I mentally think, knowing that it is a Friday and I know traffic will increase quickly if I don't get out sooner. I begin to use the feature of the computer software to time out, and I walk to the back of the store where my boss stays, knowing he'll wonder where I went otherwise. He's older, and I'm pretty sure he has all of the symptoms of Alzheimer's disease, although I won't be the one to tell him the latter. He acts his age, and even then a little bit older. "Daniel, you're still here, correct?" He speaks, not knowing I just informed him I was in his presence. "Yes, I am here," I respond.
"Could you possibly tell Xavier that he is to work an extra hour tonight? I'm pretty sure he needs punishment for showing up late today," my boss responds. "Him and his odd colors of hair. Teenagers these days..."
"Yes sir, I will get on that," I respond. I find Xavier, who went on break ten minutes ago. He and I are acquaintances at school; we've only talked a handful of times both here and there, and I'm quite thankful for that. He's kind of a punkish person, and he's a prime paragon of that stereotype. I find him in a closet in the back of the store, where inventory normally stays.
It's dark, and I normally fear the dark. This isn't an exception. "Ashton, just to let you know this, our boss told me that you have to stay here for extra time for showing up late, and besides, I'm out. Later."
I walk out with a small smirk on my face, ready to ride my bike home. It's been quite a long, tiring day, and thank goodness it's Friday.
