100 People in 100 Days:v. Retro Bill

Retro Bill stood at the counter with a pompadour that stood a good ten feet into the air, The hair was dyed jet black; as all good pompadours are. He was at the copy shop to pick up his order of custom mousepads.

The mouse pad was nothing more than Bill’s head in a pink starburst; his pompadour almost passing the edge of the pad. Underneath his head, in hot pink and blue letters, were the words Retro Bill.

The manager of the copy shop walked through the shop’s backdoor. He noticed Amar repressing the mousepads.

“Why are you doing those again?” the manager asked.

Amar, in his Iranian accent said, “He thought the first ones were too dark.”

Kashawndra walked up to the manager and Amar, “Yeah. I was able to figure out how to print them out light enough.”

“Is he here waiting for them?” asked the manager.

“Yes,” said Amar.

From the front count a voice bellowed, “How many more my man?”

Amar said, “Oh…only four more, sir.”

“Alright, bro,” said Retro Bill.

The manager turned around to look at him, almost expecting to see Bill in a leather jacket and in search for a jukebox that needed turning on with a firm punch. Retro bill stood there with a grin from ear to ear, his aforementioned pompadour, sunglasses resting on his forehead, and more wrinkles than the photoshopped picture.

A seventeen year old girl walked up next to Retro Bill with an art portfolio in her arms.

“Hey, is that your art, girl?” said Bill.

She blushed. “Yes.”

“Well, come on then. Open that thing up. I wanna see what’s inside. Show me what you can do.”

The girl opened her portfolio. Inside were seven sketches of Rubenesque women.

“Hey, those are pretty good,” Bill said with a wink.

“I guess.”

“You going to be an artist?”

“No, I’m just taking the class for school”

“Oh, so your hearts not in it, eh? Well, if it’s not in it, then it’s not in it, I guess.” Said Bill, still smiling.

“But thank you for the complement,” the girl added with another Blush.

The manager of the copy shop approached Retro Bill. “Sorry for the mousepads not being to your liking?”

“Hey, no problem. You’re getting them down,” Bill said, still smiling. “By the way, I like your hair,” he said to the manager.

The manager had no pompadour. Rather he wore it short but messy; perhaps like Sid Vicious would if he had lived to thirty-five. The manager smiled and said, “Thank you.”

"Man, you need to check out this girls art," Bill said nodding to the seventeen year old, "Open that thing up. Show the man what you got."

She opened up the portfolio for the manager and he looked at the sketches. He complimented the girl and she blushed. "Man, can you believe it though man. Her heart just isn't into it. A girl as good as that, and not into it," Bill said, still smiling.

"Well, you're good miss," said the manager. Then Amar walked up with Retro Bill’s mousepads.

“Alright. My man,” Bill said. He pulled out his wallet and paid for his order. “You got me at three bills per pad, right-o?”

“Yep, no problem,” said the manager.

“Excellent,” Bill said, still smiling. He paid for his order, picked up the bag, and walked out the electric doors into the gray, raining day.