𝗖𝝝𝗟𝗗 𝗦𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗘

𝗘𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗘𝗘𝗡

Monaco.

Oh dear Monaco, I beg you, please treat me well. Because for days, I've had a terrible terrible feeling, something might go similar to the gates of hell.

I should quit my job and pursue a career pathway as a poet, at this point. Highly doubt anyone will pay to read my written out thoughts. But should work out good enough as a plan B.

A second plan or way out, yeah something I have yet to make my mind up about. Sadly, I know myself good enough to know how terribly I suck at planning- anything really.

That clearly must be true or else I wouldn't find myself stuck in self created messes. All the time.

I have to go to a restaurant tonight. The most expensive, chic and classy dinner reservation Monte Carlo hat to offer. All so luring and great, if there weren't a big fucking catch. Because I'll go there to speak with my father.

Scratch that. I'm being sent there to talk to my father. Clearly they don't know you have to be delusional to think a man like him would talk with someone.

And seems they don't know me well enough either. Because there's no way in hell I'll be able to convince the successful bastard to further sponsor the team he put me into.

And as much as I don't want to overthink every possible scenario and outcome for tonight, it is all I fucking do. With every step I take on this paddock pavement, a new ending unlocks.

"Hello Vine!" An enthusiastic greeting I'm not sure is meant for me. But I'm assured as soon as a hand lands on my shoulder. "Good vibes today right!"

Excitement flows trough- no out, across? Left and right- just really every direction from the Monegasque source. Home race. Gotta let the guy have his fun.

I do my best joyful play. "Always."

"I am so exited, starting from pole tomorrow!!"

A smile cracks its way up to my lips. "I know Charles, I saw. Good job."

And I didn't fail to notice the once again p6 and 7 for Mercedes. The nerves are getting to them.

Which makes my choice of words for tonight even more impactful.

While I sink into a spiral of thoughts, golden boy keeps on talking. Charming bystanders and other workers that walk past to reach the parking area. Reminds me of that gorgeous rental car I picked for my stay.

Green shiny exterior and beige leather seats. The oldest old-timer they had. Therefore, an absolute beauty. Give me anything old and I'll have my money on it just so I can feel vintage really.

A blue hoodie catches my attention when he walks- no speeds right towards the parking. Dragging a duffle bag with him, alongside a bad mood.

It's strange- how my subconscious picks up on his presence. Even more now when I notice way before I used to. That my eyes catch the silhouette not only when it's stood close to mine, but now endless feet away, too.

Call me crazy, I have an unpleasant theory it resorted from the last time we looked into each others eyes. And no good comes from that, as I've learned. Either way, I can't help the sudden range change in my intuitive radar, but I sure know I don't like it.

Lando Norris unwillingly catches my attention. And it messes with my head.

I leave the target to switch back to Charles, and for some reason my feet start to force me away when I see an arm slopped around my conversation partner. He's deeply engaged into something less one-sided with a mechanic now, so technically, key for me to leave.