He watched as the meat got burnt, he knew so well he wasn't good at it. Cooking was what Dylan hated the most. But he was best in mixing some shot's.
Dylan smiled at the whiskey. If only he had reduced the....
There came a knock on the door, drifting his mind from the meat griller. He opened immediately in midst of the pizza guy knocking twice, it was better he had ordered in.
"You ain't good at it Mr Rolex."
It was obvious, the smell from the burnt meat filled the air. He paid less attention to the criticism. But he knew the pizza guy was definitely right.
"A new uniform"
Dylan only muttered, checking out the pizza. Before signing his name.
"Yeah, but man you need some cooking tutorials".
Shutting the door without taking his receipt, Dylan brought the pizza under his nostril. A good smell of not dying because of hunger. he cursed the meat and the griller. He went further to dispose them, when his eyes caught something. Dylan stood still like one who has been frightened. Not too alarmed, his hand reached out for the kitchen knife.
Swisssh!!!!
Dylan stabbed the little mouse on the spot, now he was furiated because his landlord had promised him, he won't be dealing with mouses, so much bugs or those cockroaches that gave him an heart attack.
He had thought about moving out so many times, but he couldn't because he grew fond of the place. Dylan's main reason was because he had been hitting on Alexa Cornell his next door neighbor. But she never looked his way.
Dylan called it his trial, he trusted his process of getting her. He would assure himself that those were strategies to make him buckle up. Spice up his flirting skills, he found the need of wanting a company mostly a companion.
Now, he needed to get rid of the mouse, the kitchen knife, the burnt meat and griller if possible.
He put all he wanted away except the griller which kinda seem useful.
"Hmm, I will just have to use this for something else".
It was 7pm already, and he was ready in no time for the day's business, be in a place that mattered to him. (S&A BAR) His closet friend's bar, where he worked as a bar attendant.
Dylan grabbed his motorcycle keys from table, wearing on his helmet. Before leaving for the door. The door key he inserted into the keyhole. It makes a sound, he was certain it was unlocked and locked and locked again.
Off the stairs he went as the elevator had some fault yet to be fixed, his 2016 version motorcycle was right in front of him. He got on it, geared the engine. His hands firm on the handles.
Voom Vooom Voom!!!!
It went, this was another thing he was really good at riding in full speed, as the wind blew past him... He went past some narrow lanes, the display of graffiti's he could see, it was likely common, there he saw some gambler's, the intensifying moment of competition, none wanting to lose.
His eyes went directly to some shoppers coming out of the mall, who were busy trolling their trolleys to their various cars. He saw this as a waste of time. Dylan knew he was a bad cook, so what saved him was the ordered snacks and food. The one thing he never ordered for were varieties of alcohol. All stockpiled in his fridge, he made an halt. He was right in front of the bar.