Told you not to mess this up...

I thrust my foot against the oven door, satisfying myself with a convenient click noise. After doing so, I let my finger lay upon the counter, in completion of cleaning the soup kitchen. Imagine your parents sending you away from a different city(fucking Memphis) into a whole new one in an ugly state called New Jersey. Not only that, but they sent you away from your physics internship so you could work at a soup kitchen. Two buildings away from an asylum.

Fantastic...

The powdery junk was thrown into a large bowl, which I had to add gallons of water to. It was beet red and had a scent of wax. Disgusted, I placed a clothespin on the tip of my nose to block the horrid stench. After a few mixes with a huge spoon, it was up and ready to serve the "guests". I filled many bowls with the substance, laying them out for the taking.

People walked in, grabbed their food and a glass of water, making their way to their seats. I watched in boredom, flipping the pages of a torn magazine. A torn sports magazine. And I, Frank Iero, hate sports.

"Hello," one person called out, with a light and pleasant Jersey accent. His hazel green eyes lightened with a toothy grin. His pale figure waved at me, dragging a few strands of raven hair from his face. He was wearing a hospital gown.

"Hi," I answered, just to be polite. The man scratched at his shoulder, and sighed deeply.

"Damn, but if I tell him, Tony..." he muttered.

"Excuse me?" I asked, a bit shaken.

"I'm Gerard," he answered. "And you look really nice..." He muttered again, "tony, stop".

"I'm Frank."Gerard rubbed at his eyes sleepily, and grabbed a bowl of soup. I smirked. "Got any sleep lately?"

"No, no no no," he stuttered. "People like me don't sleep, hun."

"So, Tony's your boyfriend?" I joked, serving more bowls to other "customers". Gerard looked at me seriously, his slouchy back straightening to make a serious statement. "No, Tony's just a...a friend."

"Tony," I laughed. A teenager with an imaginary friend. "He's got some nerve, he's the kind of guy you need to be friends with, but bitches you off all the fucking time."

"Exactly what I'm saying," Gerard's smile widened. " Hey, you're really cool."

"Thanks," I said, but I didn't really care for this guy much. He was just a normal guy getting soup after all.

"Promise you'll stop by my room tomorrow?" his eyes begged.

A cool, attractive guy with an apartment so I can lay off this job, what more can I ask?

"Promise, Gee." He handed me a slip of paper with his address on it.

"See you," I replied, smiling at the thought of finally making a new friend. My smile remained wide for a few minutes. Right to the point I read his address.

Room 217, Rosewater Academy. AKA, the asylum.

Notes

soooo I started something new c: should I continue?