"On The Street"
Revving the engine of his gleaming midnight blue Corvette ZR1, Tristan quickly navigated around other trucks and minivans on the dark street and cranked up the Bose custom radio louder.
The sound of Kanye Weste's rhythmic rap kept him in sync, and that made him feel more confident and relaxed then before.
Note to Self: Thank Kanye for sending a CD of his favorite songs, (not mentioning that they were all songs by him, of course.)
Gripping the leather-bound wheel tightly, Tristan glanced at the shops and restaurants beside him quickly as they passed in a blur.
Hmm…Wendie's? Or Prince Burger?
He wasn't that hungry anyways, so why not just randomly turn into a driveway and find something there? I mean, he could afford about everything in this place anyways. Shit, he could afford anything in anywhere anyways.
Tristan took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose.
Why was he so fucking tense? I mean, so what if he and Lindsay were over? Life goes on. Although he knew full on that there were billions of hot girls worldwide out there willing to marry him, Tristan Blain, without question, he just couldn't stop thinking of her. No exaggeration. He just couldn't get over her.
Stop being a wuss and get over it, asshole.
Tristan gritted his pearly teeth and rubbed at his throbbing temples as he cut the engine and climbed out of his shiny convertible. Jerking his head towards the familiar smell of greasy junk food, he used his practiced nose to find the restaurant out of all the clumps of weird unknown stores and businesses in the small plaza. Finally, he found his destination.
Ahh. Of course, MacDonald's.
Reaching the double doors of the painted wooden building, he yanked them open and strode in. Without even looking at the menu, he ordered swiftly and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill.
Oh no here comes the trouble.
The cashier lady had gasped and widened her eyes, staring at the bill as if it was a black widow spider, ready to attack her fake nose job.
She blinked furiously and slapped her palms to the metal counter and shrieked, bouncing up and down.
Shit. Why did he just wear his beanie and forget about his sunglasses?
"NO WAY!! Tristan Blain?? Ehmigawd I loooove your songs! Especially My Kiss and Tell Me One More Time, Ehhhhhmigawd I know eeehh-vry word!!"
Tristan ran a hand through his black spikes and groaned. Couldn't he go through just one day without being attacked by crazed fans? The girl looked about twenty, with bleach-blonde curls and a tiny nose. She fished a tiny takeout-order notebook from her pocket and thrust it in his face.
"Ehmigawd! Sign! Pleeasseee sign!"
Seeing no other way, he swiftly took the pen from her eager, outstretched hand and scribbled:
Tristan could hear the whispered conversations and stifled gasps behind him at the dining tables. Then, the dreaded sound: people began scraping their chairs back in haste and shuffling towards his back. Oh fuck.
When Miss Nose Job had finished with the order, he quickly exchanged the notebook for his takeout bag and a handful of ketchup packets. Shit. Better run before they ambush me.
Sprinting out the door, he made it out to his car and hastily started the engine. His heart accelerated as hordes of girls began to spill from the double doors and even from other nearby stores.
Tristan tried to back out of the parking lot carefully and quickly, but began to forget about the carefulness when the whole parking lot was alive with bobbing girls' heads that shrieked and raced towards his car.
His head began to spin. The scenery was a blur of girls. Tristan stepped on the gas pedal and reared back. But then, suddenly, in a burst of adredaline,
Tristan Blain, the hot rockstar, hit a passing girl on the street.
Author's Note: Hey it's my first time writing a story like this, so please read and review!! It might suck and be boring at first, but don't worry, it gets better! Peace…M