Aviators

C

Charles Yager

Guest
Original poster
(in the 1970s,London punk era)

Charles walked into the drugstore, he needed a smoke real bad.

He just got kicked out of his home and was going to walk to his friends house.

Of course he was going to buy some cigarettes first. That's all he would ever do with his money.

After he got his cigarettes he stopped on the curb of the road,sat down and lite his cigarette.

Charles' didn't know what to do. His hazel eyes look worried like a child and his curly dark brown hair needed a wash. His clothes were clean and his boots were sturdy enough though. He was running out of money, a lot of it.

He got back up again and stuck his thumb in the air,no cabbie would stop for him but hitch hiking was worth it.

As his cigarette was hanging out of his mouth more cars would pass him by.
Until one stopped.
He walked his way over to the window and waited for it to roll down.

He knelt down and his doll face was shown.
"Could you spare a lift for free?" He asked.
 
According to Markie's parents, he was a useless piece of shit.

He had been told this over and over again, he started to believe it.

Thankfully, he had the blessing of a car.

Markie was an angsty 17 year old boy, and he got a thrill of riding his car to random places in town.

Today, he was going to explore the place where people shopped.


There was a drug store, an Asian cuisine restaurant, a department store, just to name some things on that road.

On the road, there was a young man standing there, smoking a cigarette.

Markie had horrible eyesight, but he was interested, to say the least.

He drove over to the young man, and rolled his window down.

"Could you spare a ride for free?" The young man asked, and Markie examined his face.

The young man's face was doll like, and it had elements of facial asymmetry. It was bugging Markie, yet it was interesting to him.

"For free? You mean without money?" Markie chuckled. "How about you give me something that isn't money? Then I'll give you a ride." Markie winked at the boy.
 
Charles rolled his eyes at the comment, annoyed as he took another drag from his cigarette.
"I'll give you money," he scoffed and pulled out a 20.
 
"No no no no no!" Markie replied, shoving the money away. "Your not getting my point."
 
"Then exactly what do you want?" He knew what it was, but he wanted to be sure.
 
Markie sighed. "It's something I can't get from you," he continued. "I'll get you a ride."
 
"No money? You're giving me ride I need to give you something." He asked as he got in.
"Thanks...what's your name stud?" He asked.
 
"Yeah, no money." Markie replied. "My name is Markie, but my parents call me a useless piece of shit." He scratched his head. "Your choice, kid."
 
"Markus is fine..." He said but got silent.
"What were you really going to ask for?"
 
Markie smiled, really big. "It was something lustful," he blinked.
 
"Huh?" Markie shurgged. "Is prostitution illegal here?"
 
"I'm not one of those people!" He snapped.
"But I'm pretty sure it is if I were one." He sighed.
"I just need you to drive me here," he pulled out a small piece of paper with an address on it.
Charles leaned over to him, showing him the note.
"It's a hotel,"
 
"I'm joking," Markie replied, which was a lie. He wanted to experiment with the doll faced boy. "You! Get your ass in the car, before I drive away."
 
Charles sighed in relief and hopped into the front seat.
"Thanks," he said as he have him the address.
 
He tapped the floor of his car, before he took the paper from the guy. "Alright, let's get going," his exploration of the town taught him the location of the hotel.
 
"I'm gonna run out of money soon," he sighed.
"That's why I'm going there first."
 
((Sorry for the late reply!))

"Oh," Markie rubbed his eyes, not really caring about the boy's private life. He started his Toyota up, so that it would take them to the address on the paper. "So, boy, how young are you?" Markie looked at the kid's face. "I say 16?"
 
"17," he replied. "Since I'm older than you, you have to treat me like a superior," Markie joked.