"How can I help you sir?", a slim, black-haired waitress asked, smiling to her newly arrived customer. The customer, a man draped in black rags, tilted his straw hat towards his face, before replying: "a crescent", in a husky, smooth voice. The waitress, stunned in pure confusion, quickly responds back, "I apologize, but we don't sell that here", before clutching her kimono, bowing in 90 degrees, apologizing. The man mumbles, seemingly cursing under his breath, as he pulls his hat closer, exiting the tea house, walking away, before hurrying his steps, jogging away: out of the waitress's view. "I wonder who that was..." she ponders, before letting out a sigh of relief, and comfort, trying to forgetting the sense of tension that lied in the air, that came with the appearance, of the mysterious person. "Your wondering who's that guy was, right?" Another waitress says, sneering, as she wiped the nearby tables, before giggling at her fellow waitress's denial, which was clearly untrue. "Roon, Roon, Roon...", the petite, and blonde, long-haired girl said, standing up, from her hunched up position, as she put her hand on her hip, before tilting her head. She repeatedly continue, stretching every following word longer, until she finally was able to hop to Roon's side. Hugging her slim arm, as she rested her chin on her shoulder, she whispered, in a teasing tone, describing the customers voice, and his possible appearance: complimenting him—calling him, "hubby-material." "I mean, his voice was pretty cute, eh?", the blonde waitress said, in a tone, that waited for the others agreement, but, the other waitress refused, and chuckled. "You think everyone's cute, Topaz." she mumbled, as she stared off into the distance, laying her eyes, on the pitiful hills, and the sorrowful landscape. Where the small tea house situated, only the sound of gravel, hitting the dry, unmerciful, aggravating, hot winds, twisted with the sound of wails. Filled the ears, of all, reminding each, that lived in this small, desert, the pains, and hunger they felt. Yet, no one complained, as, even the plentiful mountains, who used to flourish, with green grass, and beautiful, ancient trees, now crumbled to a fragment, of it's past self. Noting that, even the strong, and the formidable, can be dragged down, from past glory, without their necessities—water. The land was infertile, and the people relied on rations, given by the government, who can complain? The people were truly pitiful, as rats, that lived in other lands, eat, and live a life, more luxurious than them.
(This isn't done, and hasn't been edited, but I have no place for this to go.)