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Pickles (dingdongdoodily) wrote in utr_logs,

"Fuck yes!" Said Pickles with a fistpump, which looked equally awkward in a female body as the glee-handclap of God. He walked in, and immediately was assaulted with the scent of cilantro and Parmesan. "Damn, it's good t'be home." He muttered under his breath before stepping up to the counter where there stood a rather large, burly man, hundred-percent Italian immigrant. "Heya, I'll need an XL super supreme, with extra everything on it. And a Beer for the big guy an' a dew fer me." Underage, and he wasn't going to even TRY to pull off looking it, especially with God around.

The guy behind the counter gave Pickles a second glance, almost, almost recognizing him, but not quite, and shrugged it off, giving him a total, whereupon the redhead handed off a fifty and stuffed the change given back to him in the tip jar.

"They're hard workers, these guys, dude. Love 'em here." He sauntered into one of the back booths and dropped himself into it, before realizing that flopping down anywhere without a bra pretty much hurt like hell.
_"Ouch."