Feedback appreciated. Constructive criticism more so. c: ---- Chapter One Linoleum labour Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, with a black elastic band. Her bum looked fantastic in black leather jeans, which rested just above her hips. A long sleeved maroon shirt cut off just under her rib cage, exposing a flat, pale stomach. To further her tips, she wore a pair of maroon pumps; a fortune, but well worth it. A name badge, just above her left breast read Marie, and she had this optimism about her. It was rather unique, considering it's 1964; the middle of the Vietnam War. And the Cold War. "Sugar, those tables aren't going to wait themselves." A rather nasally voice drawled. Despite her voice, she had rather good looks: blonde curly hair, plump red lips, an hourglass figure, rather large breasts. "Ugh. I need a break soon, these heels are killing!" Aside from that complaint, Maria moved off to take the waiting orders. She hated living in a capitolist country. Yet she couldn't move to a communist country because, well they were bad. And that is why her dad is over there fighting in Vietnam. She methodically took the orders, then offered them a drink. "4 soups of the day; 1 no meat. 2 chocolate milkshakes and a large coke." Her voice carried itself over to the chef who nodded and set to work. Maria grabbed a bottle of water and made her way to the Employees Only room. The checked floor had become so worn out. The lights, the worn linoleum, the cardboard crate, all so familiar thanks to her capitolist country. Well it was either this or communism, and EVERYBODY knew how bad communists were. Never having to worry about acne or pimples was one minor thing off of Lang's mind. Mind you, he had to work day in day out. And any opinions opposing the state voiced aloud would surely land him the death sentence. He'd rather earn his share, not his lazy classmates share and his own. To be given the chance to flee to South Vietnam would be God's greatest gift. He had the eyes most Asian based countries are so populated with, and that creamy sort of tan. He had a mass of black hair sitting a top his head, which for the life of him, he could never neaten it out. He had a lopsided sort of grin when he was caught smiling; which was seldom. He had his hands working methodically; the process, oh so familiar. His mind was free to roam as he basked in the afternoon sun. He wanted this war to just end. Or for an escape route to flash up. Of course, he would take his family, they didn't deserve this. Nobody did. His thoughts kept bouncing around in his mind, until he had to steer himself clear of thinking of the war. He instead chose to think about after the war. Maybe he might marry An, a rather curvy Vietnamese girl. Or maybe he could marry somebody from another town and they could flee. His hands, needing no guidance provided the perfect distraction. He tried to make up backgrounds for all the corn he pulled up. None seemed to stick. The suns rays continued to bake him, until the hat on his head wasn't enough protection and he succumbed to the shelter of the toilets. Alone at last.