Damn the Man

[maddy_ricks]

At twenty-four years old, Madeleine Ricks was trapped in the body of a fifteen year old. Or so it appeared to the rest of the world. At 5’5”, she was of average height, but thin as a rail with limited curvature. The results were infuriating. Carded for alcohol, carded for smokes, and the latest insult, carded for Gore Fest at the Huntridge Theater. Only this time, she had stuffed cash in the pocket of her overalls and left her ID card at home.

The employee – who had barely scratched eighteen himself – suggested she bring her mother to sign a release form.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” she screeched. She slapped her palms on the plexi-glass that separated the ticket salesman from the throng of fans splattered in fake blood outside. Making a scene wouldn’t get her anywhere. On a cognitive level, Maddy understood it. But she had a hell of a temper. She grabbed the paper and rolled it up lengthwise. “Do me a favor, okay? Heh… you take this release form and you gently guide it up your pimple-covered ass!”

She left the window and paced in front of the building, chewing a hangnail.

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[maddy_ricks]

“Yeah.” Maddy patted her pockets and remembered she didn’t carry a pen around all day. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure why she felt around for one. It was like looking at her wrist when a stranger asked the time and she’d never worn a watch in her life. “Maybe. Do you have a writing utensil? I’m fresh out.”

[devin_capshaw]

He still had the pencil stub from the library in his jacket pocket. Devin handed it to her. "I read in some magazine about this trick. If you think someone is giving you a fake number, you read it back to them wrong."

"If they correct you, it's kosher."

Devin offered her his ticket stub to write on. "But I trust you."