Sam waited a great deal of time before her muffin was served. In that time she had the ability to take a chance to breathe and look passively at her surroundings. Not only did this help to calm any irritation she had (thus reducing the heat to a minimum, perhaps to just a heat of a slight sunbeam, barely there), but she also got to witness a fair bit of oddness (as if she needed anymore of that this morning!). A man sat at a table and just about a minute later a shield suddenly came to appear (out of thin air) resting on the wall. The woman blinked back at the oddity, and the moment she opened her eyes again, it was gone. Her shoulders sagged and she rested her face in her hands, rubbing at her eyes and head, giving a slight groan. Good. Now she was seeing things! She was already 100% done with all the strangeness that was going on and seeing yet another thing to make her think she was crazy just made her almost exhausted.
You were just seeing things. She thought to herself while sighing,
That's what being a druggy in your teens does to you... Finally she lifted her head just in time to see an odd flickering man enter the room. He looked almost like part of him seemed to kind of lag behind and leave a choppy and vague after image of himself. She blinked again, hoping the apparition would disappear just as easily as the first had. Nope. He was still a laggy lad after she blinked. So, it was now that Sam began to stare with curiosity at the person, and she also noticed that a few people in the restaurant were stealing glances at the man as well. Could they see what she saw? Why was no one saying anything? Would it be rude? Just to go up to someone and say, 'Uhm, excuse me, sir, but I think part of your own personal image is being distorted around you. It is unsightly and is disturbing some customers.' Despite all of this, she snickered at that thought. Still, once the joking was over she groaned and rested her head against the wall of the booth she was sitting at. She let her eyes close shut, hoping to shut out this new found world of crazy. Perhaps she should do what every average, upstanding citizen would do about a mental health problem (which she may probably have) and get it checked out by a psychologist. Well, Sam was not an upstanding citizen. Instead she would catch a smoke as quickly as she could (probably in the bathroom of the cafe) and head home to start drinking booze to make her sane again or something like that. Good plan! She could almost pat her own back at how great that plan sounded.
Suddenly, she heard the man who called her 'goth girl' begin to recite the Muffin Policy line for line again (however, she criticized, not with as much gratitude and pep as the one before). He placed the muffin down to her and she began to examine it with a very pleased expression. At least one thing was going right today and at this point she didn't even care if the douche had knocked at her pet peeve. She had seen too much crazy today to be really bothered anymore. He asked if there was anything else he could help her with as he began to sweat up a storm. Sam noticed the muscles underneath and wished for a moment that she could be so committed to get up and work out, but she didn't salivate over the things. Sam noticed it just as one might notice a nice hairstyle; she knew it looked nice on him, but she didn't feel not one bit of lustful hunger. Without a beat, she said, "
No, I don't want anything else except for you to get under some fans or something." The woman began to scoot out of the booth with her muffin and she began in the direction of the bathroom. Just in case the guy thought it was odd she just said as she passed, "
I feel very self-concious when I eat muffins. It's like eating bananas or sausages, just too erotic for some people. Makes me uncomfortable." She said that last bit, feigning irritation, as if that was a struggle she faced on a daily basis. She also said it for the sake of her own odd humor. She walked away from the man, her face hidden now, snickering at herself, imagining the look on the guy's face. Aw, man, she could be an odd ball sometimes.
She slipped into the bathroom with her muffin. She called out if anyone was in there, but right now it appeared that there wasn't a soul in the bathroom, not in a single stall. Good! She smiled and turned to the door. Sam found a dead bolt and locked it, closing up the bathroom from the outside world to be her own little smoke box. The woman took a seat on the sink counter, sat the muffin (under its napkin, on the counter, and whipped out a box of cigarettes. She took one of the deadly little tubes and stuck it in her mouth, followed by a flourish of her taking out a lighter and lighting the end. Sam took in the smoke and exhaled it with much needed relief. She sighed and rested her head for a moment on a tile wall behind her and kept smoking along. Her mind began to wander to the fact that she had not burned from the boiling coffee and a thought sparked to mind. She flicked some of the end into the sink, stuck the cigarette back in her mouth, and took out her lighter again. She flicked it on. Sam was always one to try anything for adrenaline, and this risky behavior was no different. Besides, if anything bad happened, she had a sink of water next to her to ease the pain of any burns. Cautiously she brought the tiny flame closer to the tip of her ring finger (she figured that was a finger she could afford to loose). Even as the appendage was right next to the little fire, she felt no stark heat, just a pleasant warmth. Then, she steeled herself for the worst as she quickly thrust her finger into the flame and then back out. Sam felt no pain. Her finger wasn't damaged or even reddened by the flame. Sam began to then put her finger into the flame more slowly and left it there for a second or two before pulling it out. Still nothing! A smile slipped on her lips and she began to flick the flame on her hands, on her arms and there were no burns to be had. Who said that it was bad to play with fire?
