Vi Cherry was a short, blonde, excitable chick who would frequently get into trouble with the law, though not in any serious way. Some folk would say that there's a lot more to a person than can be summed up in one short sentence, but it wouldn't be true to myself or to Cherry if I wrote her like a epic novel. She spoke in short bursts of energy, which was perfect for her job as a waitress in some dying 50's cafe on the highway, with a smile that melted most men's hearts, and eyes that would turn them cold again. You could never tell what she was thinking, and quite often made you forget that you ever wondered, as she poured you coffee as she told you a recent fact she had learned. It would be a strange fact about the Mesopotamians and their rituals one day, the next it would be about spiders living in the desert that would literally cartwheel away from their enemies, and she would ramble one about how the wheel was an inevitable and evolutionary fate for the creatures of earth. She'd win you over with passionate babbles over nothing, and she would leave you in a swirl of gingham fabric and the clumsy spill of coffee. She would laugh it off, pouting cheekily at Peckham the chef, as he warned her it would be the last time he let her coax him into keeping her, though it was obvious that he would never let her go. As if she would leave anyhow, she was drawn to that job. She would show up early and sing loudly as she set the tables and cleaned the countertop. She'd be the last to leave, jotting notes on the fridge to remind her to order more napkins, or putting the batteries in the various clocks around the joint. No one knew where she lived, not that anyone asked. She never spoke about herself, but was always interested to hear about other people. If she found a good enough story, she'd sit with them and listen to their carefully constructed lies, and sympathise with them, eager to be a part of their story, hoping to be included the next time the traveller told their story. She was not naive, but she didn't need much persuading when it came to adventures. Plenty of times she had gotten onto the back of a motorcycle, or into the passage her seat of a car and just left without warning. She'd be back a few days later, with a story and a song about the lovely old Indian couple who were going to some nondescript beach to visit their parents, or the odd little family with too much time on their hands who were on a tour of All states. You would believe it by looking at her, but Cherry was a good who loved adventure, and if had not been for Peckham's soft spot, she would have perished working in a dead end, meaningless job. Peckham had asked her once, why she left without warning, when he would gladly give her a holiday if she asked for it. "I can't describe it," she began, grinning as she waved goodbye to the various bikers that had given her a lift back. "I see these people everyday, I've heard their stories before, but sometimes, I see someone who is living their #life better than me, and I get itchy feet. I want their story. I want their sense of freedom, and I can't help myself. I'm not looking for anything when I leave, but I always find something when I return." And she would leave it at that, tying her apron around her hips and begins new day of working. TBC

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