Just a couple of houses away from Diane's cheerful pink home, the main road they traveled separated the park from the residential area, leading them directly to their destination.
Mark, seated in the passenger side, gazed at the trees they passed. "The location of your house is really convenient. The park is just around the corner, making it easier to take a break from all the stress."
Diane, focused on the road, replied, "Yeah, it is very convenient, but I rarely go to that park. I have to keep an eye on my babies from pests and rats."
Mark, taken aback, said, "So you'll always be stuck on that backyard farm while guarding those veggies. That's kind of—"
Diane glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "Boring?"
Mark immediately replied, "I didn't mean it like that, but—"
Diane cut him off with a light laugh. "No worries. It's not a big deal if you think that way. Farming can be a bit monotonous, especially when you're waiting for harvest season. But hey, it teaches you patience—sometimes you just need to wait for things to turn out fine."
With a playful tone, she added, "And it's not always boring. I sunbathe next to my babies, read books, or even bring the TV into the backyard to watch my favorite series while keeping an eye on my crops. Two birds with one stone, you know?"
Mark chuckled, appreciating the wisdom in her words. "I see; sometimes you just have to wait."
"Did you say something?" Diane asked, glancing at him.
"Nah, just inspired by your wise words," he said.
"I see you've gained wisdom from this wise lady," she replied, teasing him.
Mark rolled his eyes. "You might as well wear a long white beard, thou wise wizard." He thought to himself, "Maybe all of this will become clear if I just give it time," referring to his predicament of being transported to this universe.
Diane laughed, then took a right turn, passing by the abandoned warehouse.
"When my dad was alive, he told me that warehouse used to be a factory for famous cookies in the early '80s. It went bankrupt due to corrupt investors," she explained.
Mark listened intently, gazing at the aging building with its light brown paint and large red chimney, surrounded by rusted steel fencing.
"The cookies they made were one of a kind back then," Diane continued. "They had a white base and were sprinkled with chocolate chips. They were famous—everyone called them the 'White Cookie.'"
Mark's eyes widened in realization. "It has to be a heck of a coincidence if the 'Cookie Person' is related to this."
Curious, he asked, "What happened to the owner of the cookie factory?"
Diane shook her head. "Sorry, I really don't know. My dad only told me the factory stopped operating after it went bankrupt."
Mark leaned back in the seat, feeling disheartened. "Damn, just when I thought I had a clue about that person. Even if it was not the cookie guy, it's a good lead."
An idea sparked in his mind. "Yeah, why don't I sneak in there to see if I can find a clue or something?" He began planning how to get inside.
Diane, catching on to his thoughts through the rearview mirror, warned him, "If I were you, I wouldn't plan to sneak into that warehouse."
"What? I didn't say anything like that," Mark protested.
She shot him a deadpan look. "It's written all over your face. Planning to do that is a bad idea. From what I hear, it's become territory for some gangs."
Mark thought, "Just some gangs? With this new body of mine, I can take them all." He felt a surge of confidence.
Diane, seeing through his bravado, added, "They're not just some gangs; they're Russian with backers. They're not only tall and strong but also armed."
"Unless you can dodge bullets, I wouldn't recommend it," she said firmly.
Mark's confidence faltered. "Are you really not a telepath? You just guessed what was on my mind."
Diane smirked, "Maybe. You'll never know." She pretended to be mysterious.
They passed by the "SAGA" car dealership, its bright signage contrasting sharply with the neighboring abandoned warehouse.
Mark, already catching the scent, exclaimed, "Damn! Even though we're just a few meters away, I can smell it from here." His mouth began to water.
As they drove toward Tony's Pizzeria, Mark noticed it was conveniently located at the other entrance of the park.
He pictured a person jogging around the park and was tempted by the irresistible aroma.Even if he wanted to turn back, he couldn't resist the delicious scent wafting from the pizzeria. As h could easily grab a slice of pizza in the pizzeria, meaning he'd run for nothing at all, making his progress feel like it was reduced to zero.
Diane made a slight turn toward the entrance and busted him from his thoughts said, "Don't be fooled by that smell. Tony uses an exhaust fan at the back of his kitchen to spread the aroma. That's why you can smell it from here."
Mark, taken aback, said, "Damn, that's a smart marketing strategy." He mentally gave Tony, whom he'd never met, a thumbs up for being so awesome.
The sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows as they drove through the streets of Summerville. The quiet hum of the truck's engine filled the air, and Mark couldn't help but feel a strange sense of excitement about the next stop.
As they approached the pizzeria, the scent of freshly baked bread and melting cheese wafted through the truck windows, making Mark's stomach growl. He glanced over at Diane, who had a small smirk playing on her lips, clearly aware of his hunger.
"You're gonna love Tony's place," Diane said, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Best pizza in town, hands down. Just wait 'til you meet him—he's quite the character."
Mark chuckled, "I could use a character and a slice or two right about now."
The truck came to a slow stop behind the pizzeria, and Diane pulled the handbrake.
Disclaimer:
The characters, settings, and elements in this fanfiction are the intellectual property of their respective owners. New Life, New Saga is inspired by Summertime Saga, which is owned by Kompas Productions. This fanfiction is created purely for fun and non-commercial purposes, and I do not claim any ownership of the original works. All rights to the original material belong to their creators. If you appreciate my work and would like to support my writing, consider making a donation on my Patreon. Thank you for your support and for reading!