I tossed him some clothes I got for him.I liked him as a bad boy.He ended up with faded blue ripped jeans, a white v-neck shirt, and a leather jacket.What size shoes do you wear? I asked rummaging through the closet.Uhh….10 1/2 he replied.11 it is! Black or black? I asked bending down.Black, I guess. I came out with a shoe box.I tossed it to him.Put them on.Dont lace them, let me do that. I said. I was dressed in a ripped jean mini skirt, my blackouts tank, and ripped black leggings.He finally got the Doc. Martens combat boots on.I tucked in his jeans, and laced them up.I stopped by the top.I didnt tie them. I put on my shoes.Dark red combat boots up to my knees.I tied them nice and tight.Get over here, asshole. I walked over to the mirror.I took Rys hair gel, rubbed my hands together, and just ruffled them through his hair to give him that I-just-woke-up-and-I-dont-give-a-fuck hairstyle.Dont touch it.Its perfect. I said smiling. I just brushed my hair and left it down.The jet black. “How would you like to go to London and cover the Diamond Jubilee event?” I began to do back-to-back somersaults on the inside. It has been a dream of mine to go to London on a vacation, now the opportunity presents itself in a way I’ve never expected. “I’ll do it. What would you like for me to accomplish?” “Aside from interviewing the various people there, I would also like you to blog and take pictures while you’re there as well. I also want you to write a full-length feature article for me, and there’s an opportunity for you to become the lead editor and chief photographer. What do you think?” “Nicola, I’m your woman for the job.” “Good. The celebration coincides with your vacation. Now, go home and pack your bags for England.” I survived the twelve-hour plane ride from Chicago to London with an e-reader, diary, and a sleep mask. When I got to the hotel, I unpacked my belongings and flopped onto the giant king-sized bed. Perhaps it was the jet-lag, but I was having thoughts of.
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