Taking a drag from her cigarette, Lucy felt a vibration in her front pocket. It was her cell phone receiving a text message, she pulled her cheap three year-old Pantech cellular device from her ripped jeans pocket. She slid it open to read, [i]"Hey Parker wants to know if you'd like a ride. So would you?"[/i] She stopped walking, staring at the P on the screen. A slight hesitation rested on Lucy's shoulders. [i]Parker wants to know...[/i] Like he seriously cared about her. . . Of course he did, they were in the same band together. She shook the feeling, and quickly, with her thumb, she tapped out a response, [i]"22nd and Main."[/i] She pressed send and watched her phone load and send the message, as slowly as possible. Despite the used and worn conditions of her cellphone, Lucy really liked it. It was quaint, did what she wanted, and didn't think faster than her. It was a good puppy -- errr. . [i]cell phone[/i] she would remind herself. Somehow, the cellphone was making its way into her heart, but not quite as deep rooted as her guitar, which she never named. It was a silent name if it did have one. They had a serious relationship -- a jealous one, almost. Lucy preferred no one call her guitar, only she was allowed to soothe its beauty verbally, and that was generally with her singing vocals. 

"Looks like we're gettin' a ride," she mumbled to the air; the cigarette dangling from her dried pastel, pink lips. She sat down, setting her guitar case next to her. She wasn't about to stand and wait. Standing and waiting reminded her too much of her Churchy roots -- something, she preferred not to contemplate. It generally reminded her how low she was capable of falling. . and by falling, she meant in love with guys like Tim. But he was dead to her, now. Or might as well be. She hadn't heard [i]shit[/i] from or about him since the hospitable, not even rumors, and she knew, sometimes, those drugs did give him the shits, she remembered, silently cursing herself. With all the cursing she had been doing to herself as of lately, she pondered whether she should start considering herself a witch. The cheesy joke came and went just like the use of her cigarette, which she took out of her mouth and tossed on the sidewalk by her foot. She lifted her foot and smothered it into the cement. [i]22nd and Main. . .[/i]