A/N-This is my original fic. A little off my game folks. No camera references for this part. As if you missed them that much.
Fandom: Original
Summary: Camino sees himself in (stay with me here, folks) cheap furniture.
Setting: Deedee’s kitchen, following Subway.
Rating: Dare I say R? There is swearing.
Rainbow Brite And El Camino Part 9
“You.” Deedee said, snapping her finger at Brite. “Back inside.”
“You Mr.” “Go back the way you came and return with her precious tuna samich. And I’ll consider letting you in for lunch.”
“It’s right there.” He pointed behind him to the front seat.
“A whole one, dragster.” She clarified, exaggerating the last word, smacking her lips shut.
“Drifter, Deed. Drifter.” He spoke through clenched teeth.
“Whatever, racer boy. “Better work on the attitude. I hear the Japanese don’t like Americans. So holier than thou an‘ all.”
How did she know about his plans to Drift in Japan? Brite! There’s hope yet!
Camino saluted the Senegalese goddess, opened the car door and backed out.
“And wash the frekking car! She paid enough for it!”
Yeah. Yeah. Bitch.
He had brought back the whole sandwich as requested, was rewarded with entry and a bowl of soup.
He gingerly laid the oatmeal raisin cookie on Deedee’s scarred linoleum countertop.
“Gimmee dat!” She squealed, snatching it up, wax paper and all. Peeling the wrapper back. She took a healthy bite.
God, he hated trailers. So oppressive. Parks full of people other people forgot about. The sick. The addicted. The poor. The handicapped. The mentally ill. And these were their place to convene. To land. Maybe die. Hopelessness? Now that was in abundance.
He couldn’t help but look at Brite as the thought cruised by, like lights on the highway at night Blurry trails streaming as he tried his damnedest not to lose consciousness on his way home. Long days at his dad’s diner before he quit. Long days were the same no matter what you did or where you came from. He did a short stint at a shipping yard. Almost made it to crane operator too. But his boss was an asshole. So he quit that as well. Maybe I’m just an asshole and a quitter. The gravity of his own actions fully hitting him then. Brite is guilty here too though. She basically paid for me to stay, right?
“Sit down,” was mouthed, though the mouth it came from was full.
Deedee motioned toward and equally beat up table with a wobbly chair.
He did as told, mindful of how he bared his weight.
He felt sorry for the chair and himself.
Camino internalized as he peeled his tires.
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