Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > I Know I'm Supposed To Love You
The café stood out in the hustle and bustle of the fast paced city. A small café surrounded by giants of offices and shopping malls. Scents of freshly pounded coffee found its way to the streets and for a minute you could feel heaven around your senses, but you'd walk on by. Back to the aromas of pollution. Many ignorant fuelled business men and women would not give it a second glance. It's humble structure and emanating warmth fell on blind eyes. Truth was, you blink, and you miss the whole thing.
It was these characteristics that Patrick loved about the café. A secret place where he could retreat to being anonymous. He opened the door to the café and was greeted with familiar smiles from the staff. He crooked his own replying message. Scanning around the room. An array of sofa seats and tables with chairs. The usual customers; a hippy couple happily entwining in the corner, a bohemian poet furiously writing notes in an inspired moment, and an elderly man, his eyes glazed over with past memories. He recognised all of them. Their faces spoke louder than their names
At the counter Patrick ordered his usual, to a middle aged waitress he had grown accustomed too.
"Are you alright hun?" She asked
He shrugged his shoulders, "I've been better, I've been worse."
"Wanna talk about it?"
"Not today" he replied, "but thanks."
"No problems, I'll bring them over"
He smiled graciously to her, appreciating the kind words that fell from her lips. He took heed and walked over to his usual table, one surrounded by chairs, taking in the melodic soft jazz that filled the room. From his backpack bag he removed his Mac Book Pro and began to loose himself in it, only looking up to thank the new arrival of coffee, steaming by his side. Patrick had to something to distract his mind from the whirlwind of thoughts that had consumed him so.
Lost in a breathless thought Patrick could throw himself into work. He tapped his thumb softly in the beat to the music in the background and let his mind be filled with a new creation . A drum beat, baseline, riff and a vocal. Chords arranged themselves around the impulses in his mind. Swimming around with memories and thoughts. Patrick could hear them. Clear. He had a fresh lease of Pete's lyrics upon the screen and in his mind he could sing along with them perfectly. Patrick was utterly devoted by getting this right. Getting this impeccable. Getting this masterpiece.
And it would have all gone perfectly, he could have tampered with his computer, get his thought down, before going home and trying them on his guitar, if it wasn't for a guitar riff blaring out of some headphones near by. There was no words, or vocal to accompany the riff, just a very loud screech of noise. Inaudible and annoying. It interrupted any possible creation Patrick was thinking. The sounds shimmering down his back like a bad shiver. His neck hairs stood on end out of irritation.
Incredulously he lifted his eyes to look around. To direct his fury and frustration at whatever perpetrator was destroying his work. From his view point, he could see the usual, none of whom had any such movements to suggest they were listening to music, yet he could still hear. The heavy metal music that was destroying his flow of perfection.
He twisted his head around and found a trail of black wire to ears, and he was about to say something when all his anger melted in a heartbeat. The perpetrator was a girl. And not just any girl, she caught his breath. Everything within his head, his mind, stopped as his eyes drifted carelessly across her body.
She was lounged along the leather sofas. He knees lifted up close to her small pert chests. Her black hair fell loosely in her eyes and small purple streaks highlighted the shine each strand captivated. Her toe tapped softly in time with the music. A tight green jacket wrapped to her arms, but was open around her waist. A black tank top fell across her flattened stomach but a peak of navel crept through. She wore baggy jeans that refused to cling to her legs, and they fell across bright orange trainers. Her eyes were lined with a small amount of eyeliner, nothing to heavy to create a scene image. In her hand, she held a book, Patrick's eyes caressed the fingers entwining with the book. He skimmed the title, "The Forgotten" a book he was unfamiliar with.
Patrick completely forgot why he turned around and by the time he had in took her beautiful appearance the heavy metal music had gone and was replaced by the soft instruments of Ray Charles. He couldn't help but smile, being a fan himself. He directed his attention to her lips, moving along in unison with the words he could hear.
She cocked her head. Sipping the last remains of her coffee and turning the corner of the page down. Her eyes flittered upwards and Patrick found himself flutter. His cheeks blushed and she lifted one side of her mouth in a half smile. Her lips moved in time to the words "do I want you, oh my do I? Honey deed I do!"
Together they passed a smirk and he had pulled up enough courage to go up to her, when she packed her book away. Lifted herself of her seat. Flew a wink in his direction and walked out of the café. Patrick watched her until he could see her no more. Saying goodbye the the opportunity.
*
Ciao Bella
It was these characteristics that Patrick loved about the café. A secret place where he could retreat to being anonymous. He opened the door to the café and was greeted with familiar smiles from the staff. He crooked his own replying message. Scanning around the room. An array of sofa seats and tables with chairs. The usual customers; a hippy couple happily entwining in the corner, a bohemian poet furiously writing notes in an inspired moment, and an elderly man, his eyes glazed over with past memories. He recognised all of them. Their faces spoke louder than their names
At the counter Patrick ordered his usual, to a middle aged waitress he had grown accustomed too.
"Are you alright hun?" She asked
He shrugged his shoulders, "I've been better, I've been worse."
"Wanna talk about it?"
"Not today" he replied, "but thanks."
"No problems, I'll bring them over"
He smiled graciously to her, appreciating the kind words that fell from her lips. He took heed and walked over to his usual table, one surrounded by chairs, taking in the melodic soft jazz that filled the room. From his backpack bag he removed his Mac Book Pro and began to loose himself in it, only looking up to thank the new arrival of coffee, steaming by his side. Patrick had to something to distract his mind from the whirlwind of thoughts that had consumed him so.
Lost in a breathless thought Patrick could throw himself into work. He tapped his thumb softly in the beat to the music in the background and let his mind be filled with a new creation . A drum beat, baseline, riff and a vocal. Chords arranged themselves around the impulses in his mind. Swimming around with memories and thoughts. Patrick could hear them. Clear. He had a fresh lease of Pete's lyrics upon the screen and in his mind he could sing along with them perfectly. Patrick was utterly devoted by getting this right. Getting this impeccable. Getting this masterpiece.
And it would have all gone perfectly, he could have tampered with his computer, get his thought down, before going home and trying them on his guitar, if it wasn't for a guitar riff blaring out of some headphones near by. There was no words, or vocal to accompany the riff, just a very loud screech of noise. Inaudible and annoying. It interrupted any possible creation Patrick was thinking. The sounds shimmering down his back like a bad shiver. His neck hairs stood on end out of irritation.
Incredulously he lifted his eyes to look around. To direct his fury and frustration at whatever perpetrator was destroying his work. From his view point, he could see the usual, none of whom had any such movements to suggest they were listening to music, yet he could still hear. The heavy metal music that was destroying his flow of perfection.
He twisted his head around and found a trail of black wire to ears, and he was about to say something when all his anger melted in a heartbeat. The perpetrator was a girl. And not just any girl, she caught his breath. Everything within his head, his mind, stopped as his eyes drifted carelessly across her body.
She was lounged along the leather sofas. He knees lifted up close to her small pert chests. Her black hair fell loosely in her eyes and small purple streaks highlighted the shine each strand captivated. Her toe tapped softly in time with the music. A tight green jacket wrapped to her arms, but was open around her waist. A black tank top fell across her flattened stomach but a peak of navel crept through. She wore baggy jeans that refused to cling to her legs, and they fell across bright orange trainers. Her eyes were lined with a small amount of eyeliner, nothing to heavy to create a scene image. In her hand, she held a book, Patrick's eyes caressed the fingers entwining with the book. He skimmed the title, "The Forgotten" a book he was unfamiliar with.
Patrick completely forgot why he turned around and by the time he had in took her beautiful appearance the heavy metal music had gone and was replaced by the soft instruments of Ray Charles. He couldn't help but smile, being a fan himself. He directed his attention to her lips, moving along in unison with the words he could hear.
She cocked her head. Sipping the last remains of her coffee and turning the corner of the page down. Her eyes flittered upwards and Patrick found himself flutter. His cheeks blushed and she lifted one side of her mouth in a half smile. Her lips moved in time to the words "do I want you, oh my do I? Honey deed I do!"
Together they passed a smirk and he had pulled up enough courage to go up to her, when she packed her book away. Lifted herself of her seat. Flew a wink in his direction and walked out of the café. Patrick watched her until he could see her no more. Saying goodbye the the opportunity.
*
Ciao Bella
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