Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > My Own Sins
Patrick had spent the day so far looking over his shoulder. Something or someone was always there, right up until the moment he turned. Always on the verge of catching whoever was following him, he had been unsuccessful all morning.
When it began, he had been unconcerned, assuming he was imagining it, but as the day wore on he moved on to irritated, through curious and finally unnerved. Was he being stalked? Was it a fan? A photographer? A detective? A psycho? Each new thought taking him to new levels of anxiety. Turning once more as the movement and distinctive flash of colour caught his eye, he was again disappointed to find nothing and no one nearby. With a heavy sigh, Patrick nodded to himself as he decided to put himself in a position where he was in control. Across the street a coffee shop caught his eye. It wasn’t one he had visited before and while this would normally be an ideal diversion, right now he craved familiarity. In familiar surroundings he would be better able to watch for whoever had dogged his every movement all day. Deciding to go with what was available he crossed the street and headed for the small coffee shop; instantly he was glad he had. There was something very comforting about the dimly lit room, decorated with an old-world charm, added to which a smooth, rich aroma of ground beans hung in the air. Even the dull whirring of the cappuccino machine brought a smile to his face, a smile that had been absent most of the day. Instead of a bland array of small tables and chairs in a bright, sterile environment, Patrick was delighted to see a long wall of semi-private booths, deeply padded seats of plush material looked both comfortable and inviting. Ordering a coffee and an oat and raisin cookie, Patrick took a seat in the end booth farthest from the door. If anyone came in, anyone who looked remotely like they could be the person who had followed him all day, he would know.
“Thanks,” Patrick smiled at the waitress as she placed the mug and plate on the table. Looking down, he stared in wide-eyed disbelief at what was probably the largest cookie he had ever seen.
“Can I get you anything, Sir?” she asked politely.
“Huh?”
Patrick looked up and immediately jerked back with a start as he stared at the man now sitting opposite him in the booth. Stunned into silence, Patrick found himself sitting perfectly still as the man ordered coffee and a slice of cheesecake for himself.
“I do like cheesecake,” he offered an almost grave expression to accompany what should have been a light-hearted statement. “Do you?” he added.
“Who are you?” Patrick whispered, still unnerved by the man’s sudden arrival.
“You know who I am,” he replied with a raised eyebrow, as he pulled a gooey piece off Patrick’s cookie and popped it in his mouth.
Patrick stared almost blankly as the man sitting opposite continued to help himself to his cookie. He was garishly dressed in a canary yellow suit with oversized black lapels, a matching shirt and bow tie, topped by a smart cream coloured waistcoat and a flamboyant yellow top hat sporting a bright yellow ostrich feather. And, of course, aside from the almost cartoon make up, he was the very image of Patrick. Somehow, despite his outrageously gaudy appearance he was strangely intimidating. Perhaps it was his serious, almost stern mannerisms, or perhaps it was that Patrick knew that this couldn’t be real… could it?
“You’re… I’m imagining this.”
“Thank you,” he nodded at the waitress as his coffee and cheesecake arrived. Breaking off a piece with his fork and closing his eyes, he savoured the flavour. “Ah, yes, I do like cheesecake.”
“I said, I’m imagining this!” Patrick repeated.
“So you said, but are you trying to convince me or you?”
Patrick frowned; he had a point.
“You can’t be real… you’re fictional,” Patrick reasoned.
“Well, that’s possible, or you could be crazy,” he swallowed another forkful of cake before continuing. “Or, I could be exactly who I say I am.”
“And… I can’t believe I’m asking this… who do you say you are?” Patrick asked, almost dreading the answer.
Offering an almost haughty expression made all the more so by the tiny painted lips, he narrowed his eyes before passing a small business card to Patrick. With a small sigh, Patrick turned the card in his hands and read:
Doctor Silas P Benzedrine – Purveyor of natural stimulants to aid wakefulness and alertness
“Doctor Benzedrine?” Patrick shook his head in dismay. “Why have you been following me all day?”
“I need your help,” he admitted with a deep frown. “I have a little matter to resolve with Mr Sandman.”
Patrick dropped his head into his hand and sighed heavily.
“Yeah, Mr Sandman. Of course you do, makes perfect sense. Why did I not realise straight away?”
“Are you being sarcastic? Because, you know, if you are, I have a cure for that.”
When it began, he had been unconcerned, assuming he was imagining it, but as the day wore on he moved on to irritated, through curious and finally unnerved. Was he being stalked? Was it a fan? A photographer? A detective? A psycho? Each new thought taking him to new levels of anxiety. Turning once more as the movement and distinctive flash of colour caught his eye, he was again disappointed to find nothing and no one nearby. With a heavy sigh, Patrick nodded to himself as he decided to put himself in a position where he was in control. Across the street a coffee shop caught his eye. It wasn’t one he had visited before and while this would normally be an ideal diversion, right now he craved familiarity. In familiar surroundings he would be better able to watch for whoever had dogged his every movement all day. Deciding to go with what was available he crossed the street and headed for the small coffee shop; instantly he was glad he had. There was something very comforting about the dimly lit room, decorated with an old-world charm, added to which a smooth, rich aroma of ground beans hung in the air. Even the dull whirring of the cappuccino machine brought a smile to his face, a smile that had been absent most of the day. Instead of a bland array of small tables and chairs in a bright, sterile environment, Patrick was delighted to see a long wall of semi-private booths, deeply padded seats of plush material looked both comfortable and inviting. Ordering a coffee and an oat and raisin cookie, Patrick took a seat in the end booth farthest from the door. If anyone came in, anyone who looked remotely like they could be the person who had followed him all day, he would know.
“Thanks,” Patrick smiled at the waitress as she placed the mug and plate on the table. Looking down, he stared in wide-eyed disbelief at what was probably the largest cookie he had ever seen.
“Can I get you anything, Sir?” she asked politely.
“Huh?”
Patrick looked up and immediately jerked back with a start as he stared at the man now sitting opposite him in the booth. Stunned into silence, Patrick found himself sitting perfectly still as the man ordered coffee and a slice of cheesecake for himself.
“I do like cheesecake,” he offered an almost grave expression to accompany what should have been a light-hearted statement. “Do you?” he added.
“Who are you?” Patrick whispered, still unnerved by the man’s sudden arrival.
“You know who I am,” he replied with a raised eyebrow, as he pulled a gooey piece off Patrick’s cookie and popped it in his mouth.
Patrick stared almost blankly as the man sitting opposite continued to help himself to his cookie. He was garishly dressed in a canary yellow suit with oversized black lapels, a matching shirt and bow tie, topped by a smart cream coloured waistcoat and a flamboyant yellow top hat sporting a bright yellow ostrich feather. And, of course, aside from the almost cartoon make up, he was the very image of Patrick. Somehow, despite his outrageously gaudy appearance he was strangely intimidating. Perhaps it was his serious, almost stern mannerisms, or perhaps it was that Patrick knew that this couldn’t be real… could it?
“You’re… I’m imagining this.”
“Thank you,” he nodded at the waitress as his coffee and cheesecake arrived. Breaking off a piece with his fork and closing his eyes, he savoured the flavour. “Ah, yes, I do like cheesecake.”
“I said, I’m imagining this!” Patrick repeated.
“So you said, but are you trying to convince me or you?”
Patrick frowned; he had a point.
“You can’t be real… you’re fictional,” Patrick reasoned.
“Well, that’s possible, or you could be crazy,” he swallowed another forkful of cake before continuing. “Or, I could be exactly who I say I am.”
“And… I can’t believe I’m asking this… who do you say you are?” Patrick asked, almost dreading the answer.
Offering an almost haughty expression made all the more so by the tiny painted lips, he narrowed his eyes before passing a small business card to Patrick. With a small sigh, Patrick turned the card in his hands and read:
Doctor Silas P Benzedrine – Purveyor of natural stimulants to aid wakefulness and alertness
“Doctor Benzedrine?” Patrick shook his head in dismay. “Why have you been following me all day?”
“I need your help,” he admitted with a deep frown. “I have a little matter to resolve with Mr Sandman.”
Patrick dropped his head into his hand and sighed heavily.
“Yeah, Mr Sandman. Of course you do, makes perfect sense. Why did I not realise straight away?”
“Are you being sarcastic? Because, you know, if you are, I have a cure for that.”
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