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My HeartTaylor's P.O.V
I was sitting on the counter in the house we all stay at during our off time of tour. I was pretty much alone, Hayley and Josh went out for lunch, Jeremy ran to the store and Zac was asleep in his room. I sat there for awhile just staring off. I heard the front door open followed by
"Im home" 'I guess Jeremy made it home first.'
I hoped off the the counter to help bring in the grocery's.
"hey whatdya ya get?" I questioned trying to peer into the bags.
"Cereal, Ramen, Mac n' Cheese, and some stuff to make teriyaki chicken tonight." He said setting some f the bags on the counter taking the ones i had out of my hands as he started to place the objects in various places.
I hoped back on the counter and watched as he starte
Helping Hand-Helping Hand-
Its the smiles i put on faces
Its the the hugs i receive in return.
Its the way they thank me
Its what makes me fell whole
To help people
The grandest gesture.
Weather its giving them a complement
Or helping them though a break up.
When i see that smile
When i get that hug
or hear that Thank You
It makes me the happiest person alive.
Just to know that they're happy.
Outcast call to arms introAndys P.O.V
I was walking though the studio. I had just finished recording the vocals to Knives and Pens Acoustic.
I found the break room with ease. Slowoly i opened the door.
I found that tohe room had A couch in fornt of a TV, a fridge in the conner. oppiste that conner was a bed, well more of a mattress with some pillows and blankets.
Ashly or ash was sitting on the couch with sandra usinh his sholder as a pillow not that it looked like he cared.
Jake was over at the fridge rumiging though it.
"Hay Andy"Jake said turning around from the fridge with a root beer in his hands.
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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