#professional restaurant cleaners

[raicleaning]

What Are the Benefits of Regular Cleaning by Melbourne's Restaurant Cleaners?

Running a successful restaurant in Melbourne comes with its fair share of challenges, one of which is maintaining impeccable cleanliness and hygiene. In a city known for its vibrant food scene, reputation is everything, and one of the key elements that can make or break a restaurant's reputation is its level of cleanliness. This is where the services of professional restaurant cleaners in Melbourne become indispensable.

1. ** First Impressions Matter:

The old saying "You never get a second chance to make a first impression" holds true for restaurants. The cleanliness and hygiene of your establishment are the first things customers notice when they walk in the door. With Melbourne's diverse and discerning clientele, a spotless and well-maintained restaurant is more likely to attract and retain customers.

**2. ** Customer Satisfaction:

Cleanliness isn't just about appearances; it's also about the overall dining experience. A clean environment contributes to a positive ambiance, which can significantly impact customer satisfaction. Happy, satisfied customers are more likely to return and recommend your restaurant to others.

**3. ** Compliance with Regulations:

In the restaurant industry, health and safety regulations are paramount. Melbourne has strict guidelines that restaurants must adhere to, and failure to comply can result in fines or even closure. Professional restaurant cleaners are well-versed in these regulations and ensure your establishment is always in compliance.

**4. ** Reduced Health Risks:

A clean restaurant isn't just about aesthetics; it's also about preventing health risks. Regular cleaning eliminates potential breeding grounds for pests and pathogens, reducing the risk of foodborne illnesses. This is particularly important in a city like Melbourne, where food safety is closely monitored.

**5. ** Preserving Your Assets:

Restaurant equipment and fixtures are a significant investment. Regular cleaning and maintenance can extend the lifespan of your assets, saving you money in the long run. Whether it's your kitchen equipment, furniture, or decorative elements, keeping them clean and well-maintained is essential.

**6. ** Improved Staff Morale:

A clean and organized workplace is not only pleasant for customers but also for your staff. It can boost employee morale and create a more positive working environment. Happy employees are more likely to provide better service and contribute to a better overall dining experience.

**7. ** Efficient Workflow:

In a busy restaurant, an efficient workflow is crucial. A clutter-free and clean kitchen allows chefs and staff to work more smoothly and swiftly, resulting in quicker service and happier customers.

**8. ** Eco-Friendly Practices:

Many professional restaurant cleaners in Melbourne now incorporate eco-friendly cleaning practices. This not only benefits the environment but also aligns with the values of many patrons who prefer to support businesses that are environmentally conscious.

**9. ** Customized Cleaning Solutions:

Professional restaurant cleaners understand that each restaurant has its unique needs. They can tailor their cleaning services to match your specific requirements, ensuring that every nook and cranny is addressed.

**10. ** Cost-Effective: **

While it may seem like an additional expense, regular cleaning by professionals can be a cost-effective investment. Preventing major issues through routine maintenance can save you from expensive repairs or renovations down the line.

**11. ** Time-Saving:

Cleaning a restaurant thoroughly is time-consuming, and when you're running a business, time is precious. Hiring professionals to handle the cleaning allows you and your staff to focus on other essential aspects of your restaurant.

**12. ** Enhanced Reputation:

Melbourne is known for its competitive restaurant scene. A sparkling clean restaurant not only attracts more customers but also helps you stand out in a crowded market. Word-of-mouth recommendations and online reviews often highlight cleanliness as a critical factor in dining choices.

**13. ** Fulfilling Customer Expectations:

In a cosmopolitan city like Melbourne, customers have high expectations when it comes to dining out. Meeting or exceeding these expectations, including maintaining high cleanliness standards, can lead to repeat business and positive reviews.

**14. ** Adherence to High Standards:

Professional restaurant cleaners in Melbourne are well-versed in industry standards and best practices. They bring a level of expertise and attention to detail that is often difficult to achieve with in-house cleaning staff.

**15. ** A Comprehensive Approach:

Professional cleaners don't just focus on the visible areas; they also address those hidden corners that are often overlooked during regular cleaning. This comprehensive approach ensures that every part of your restaurant is clean and safe.

**16. ** Preventing Downtime:

Major cleaning tasks can lead to restaurant closures, which can impact your revenue. Professional cleaners work efficiently, minimizing downtime and disruption to your business.

**17. ** Positive Impact on Revenue:

A clean and inviting restaurant is more likely to attract patrons and keep them coming back. This positive impact on your revenue can significantly outweigh the cost of professional cleaning services.

**18. ** Reliability:

Professional restaurant cleaners operate on a set schedule, ensuring that your restaurant is consistently clean. This reliability is essential in maintaining a positive reputation.

**19. ** Healthier Environment:

A clean and sanitized environment is not only good for customers but also for your staff. Reduced allergens and contaminants in the air can create a healthier workplace.

**20. ** Peace of Mind:

Knowing that your restaurant is in the hands of professionals who are experts in maintaining cleanliness and hygiene provides peace of mind. You can focus on your core business while they take care of the cleaning.

In Melbourne's thriving restaurant scene, maintaining a high standard of cleanliness is not optional – it's essential. Professional restaurant cleaners offer a range of benefits that directly contribute to the success and longevity of your establishment. Whether it's enhancing your reputation, ensuring compliance, or providing a healthier environment, their services are an investment that pays off in more ways than one.

[onthespotcleanersinc]

 Mold is a significant issue in homes and businesses. If you believe you have a mold problem, you must immediately act. Many individuals employ a mold remediation firm to remove and repair their property. Contact On The Spot Cleaners if you want mold removal in Rochester, New York. But, before you choose mold cleanup services, there are crucial details you must consider.

[uc1wa]

18+ minors dni

osamu miya, who hires some interns for his restaurant over the summer. college students who want some real-life experience from such a successful entrepreneur! but you go above everyone else, spending extra time on the weekends to help him clean up his set-up, asking to see contracts in real-time to get an idea of the business side of his restaurant business, and creating campaigns that boost the success of onigiri miya! he has to strain himself to stay professional. he has to wear a silly apron around you at all times so as to not disclose the hard-on he's trying to contain, but it's difficult when you're leaning over his desk, cleavage on display while he's tripping over his words and jumbling numbers together.

when telling his brother about you, sending him a picture from his staff website as to get a better idea, it's no surprise when atsumu urges with a, "just give 'er a li'l peak of what being a star employee really means t'you."

so, lingering touches become more common. his hand brushing over yours, a palm on your lower back when he's leaving his restaurant with you beside him. it's only kind to match his attraction through a hand on his bicep, your legs leaned against his underneath his desk. a big palm finds its way to your thigh 'till your legs are spread on either side of his lap.

and osamu's no animal; he makes sure to clean his space as much as he can, and the building's cleaners are surprised when the first thing they smell is cleaning wax and no onigiri when they come in the following day.

[familyabolisher]

hi! i'm ave wiseman, incidental writer and professional guy who washes dishes in a restaurant. i'm relaunching my patreon, where i will be posting monthly works of short fiction for the low low price of £1/mo (or as much as £7/mo, if you're feeling generous). i am not in any immediate need (ie. if you only have a few dollars to spare, please give them to somebody else), but the combination of low-paid work and the fact that i've been losing hours over the last few weeks has made it so that i would like to have some extra money coming in where i can get it.

you can read my first piece of short fiction already—it's poltergeist, a 2,121-word story about the lengths that one woman will go to to get back at her landlord.

if you want to read my prose work without having to pay for it, there's 638 cobalt road, about a cleaner who cleans a weird building that doesn't exist. you can also read the handful of essays i've posted (and will continue to post) over there. or you can read my posts.

if you were already subscribed to my patreon, i think you'll need to cancel that subscription and re-subscribe through the tiers system. sorry i also wish this was easier. website.

thanks for your time!

[slugterra-twisted-ends]

Some Slugterra Worldbuilding

Majority of these things are based on evidence gathered from the show; Currency: Gold (based on the USA 1840s - 1870s Gold pieces) Amounts; 1, 2.50, 5, 10, 20 (Source idea: 'Slugfu Showdown' when Kord and Trixie had their bet)

Government: Each cavern has their own government systems (basically wild west style) with their own law-enforcers. High Plains has a town council whilst Logan Cavern is under the corrupted judge. The justice system does exist across the caverns similar to that of country law with the Security Slingers enforcing it. Eastern Caverns would have a few different rules to that of the 99 Caverns (Source: Episodes 'Mario Bravado' and 'It Comes By Night') Environment: Slugterra's Lumino Crystals are both a power source and are the equivalent to the sun (Source: Slug It Out 2 Beach Cavern (so game canon lore))

Farming and Agriculture: Using the history of colonization, its safe to suggest that when humans descended into Slugterra around 2000 years ago that they brought their livestock and farming with them. Gives explanation to the usage of meat, vegetables and fruits that wouldn’t be possible under the earth. (Source: Mentions of Farming in 'Return of the Elementals', 'Second Chances' and 'The Fall of the Eastern Champion')

Education: The education of Slugterra appears to be something suggested, not something enforced. Manatory; Grades 1 through to 10 (ages 5 to 14) Further Education: Universities and Institutes (15 and over) (Source: "World Beneath Our Feet Part 2" and "Shadows and Light")

Workforce: Most Slugterrians appear to take up some form of Slug Slinging as their profession or hobby. These can include; Security Slingers, Mercenaries, Bounty Hunters, Guards, Slugball Players, Professional Slingers, Adventurers However, there are more professions that aren’t fully based in slinging, such as; Scientist, Mecha Engineer, Blastersmith, Technician, Train Conductor, Train/Rail Engineer, Butler/Maid, Shopkeep, Delivery Driver, Artisan, Cook/Restaurant Employee, Announcer, News Reporter, Miner, Pirate, Barkeep, Council Member, Judge, Spa Owner, Actor, Director, Cinema Worker, Racer, Farmer, Builders, Trackers, Teachers, Professors, Historians With those in mind, more can be thought up such as; Doctor, Vet, Musician, Cleaners, Bankers, Treasurers, Carpenters, Critics, Gardeners, Plumbers, Electricians, Fashion Designers (Source: A majority of the character roles we see play out and mentions of professions from side cast)

[pricelessemotion]

Lectori Salutem | E.M.

Summary: [5.1k] you and eddie shoot pool and spill secrets.

Pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!music journalist! reader

Warnings: drinking, language

Notes: things are finally picking up! next chapter will include some 18+ content so you must have your age in your bio for the taglist!

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Eddie clambers into the passenger seat of your car. Upon leaving the diner, you managed to convince him to let you drive to your next destination, citing a general need to live. 

The drive back to Eddie’s was considerably less nerve-wracking. This go around, he decided to obey the speed limit and not split lanes like a maniac. Not only did he give you peace of mind but he also spared the delicious french toast that you ate from making a reappearance. 

Turning the key, the car starts with a light rumble. The sound of electric guitars and heavy drums shatters the silence between the two of you. 

Fuck.

You still had the Corroded Coffin tape in your stereo. 

Eddie is turned away from you, grabbing the seatbelt. At the sound of his own voice being played back to him, he slowly turns around to look at you. The grin on his face would put the Cheshire cat to shame. 

“I didn’t know you were a fan, sweetheart.” The nickname is saccharine coming out of his mouth. 

“I–” You sputter, trying to come up with a good defense. “I’m thorough in my research.”

Eddie is obviously amused at the fact that he’s caught you red-handed. His seatbelt is already buckled, but it’s stretched thin as he leans across the center console. He smells like syrup and cigarettes. For a second, you consider turning the stereo off completely. 

“Should I be scared? Do you have a shrine to me in your room? Do you have my face tattooed on your ass?” With each question his voice gets louder and louder, filling the tiny space with his velvety timbre. 

Though your face is hot with embarrassment, you’re secretly relieved. Any semblance of tension from bringing up Evelyn at the diner has dissipated. It’s been shredded with every strum of a guitar. You find it’s easier to be around Eddie this way. It’s easier to give in to his playfulness, rather than try to maintain the facade of professionalism. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You say, casting him a sideways glance. 

Eddie, for the most part, remains stoic. But you catch the twitch of his mouth and see the tell-tale shade of pink flood his cheeks. If anything should be indicative of the fact that you’ve stunned him, it’s that he’s stopped talking for the first time since you met him. Another thing you’ve learned about Eddie Munson: He never shuts up. 

You release the parking brake and peel off into the streets. If Eddie is at all bothered by listening to his own music, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he takes the opportunity to quietly sing along, only stopping to pepper in commentary about the track or to give you directions. The richness of his voice is so distracting that you haven’t even noticed that you have no idea where he’s taking you.

Trying to find street parking in East Hollywood is a fruitless endeavor. You almost wish you had taken up Eddie’s offer to ride his bike. Eddie directs you around the backside of a building where a sign indicates that it’s a private parking lot, not meant for public use. He assures you that you won’t get towed.

The Blue Line is a bar tucked in between a Thai restaurant and a dry cleaners. Walking up to the doors, you’re hit with the clashing scents of peanut sauce and fresh linen.  

There are very few people inside, given that it’s a bar and it’s barely even five o’clock yet. The soles of your shoes stick to the floor, making a quiet but awful velcro-like sound with every step you take.

“Buckley!” Eddie’s voice booms as you enter the establishment, echoing off the concrete floors and exposed brick walls.

A tall, freckled girl springs up behind the counter. At the sound of her name, she grins, her dark lipstick contrasting pearly white teeth. 

“Munson!” She yells back. The few patrons that linger around various areas of the bar are evidently disturbed by the sudden change in volume, turning their heads and scowling. She doesn’t seem to care. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Just looking to shoot some pool in the best bar in L.A.” Buckley audibly snorts at the last part of his statement. “My tab still open?”

“Always.” She shakes her head and raises her brows at him as if to say, of course. She turns to look at you. “Who’s your friend?”

Your mouth opens, but the words die on your tongue. You and Eddie are not friends. At least, you’re not supposed to be. But you don’t know if you want to tell this woman, who Eddie is clearly close with, that you’re here on assignment to try to cherry-pick the best parts of him and turn them into something palatable. 

At your hesitation, Eddie swoops in and makes the introduction for you. He doesn’t mention the fact that you’re a journalist. Whether the omission is for your benefit or his, you’re not sure.

“Nice to meet you,” She throws the rag she was using to wipe down the counter over her shoulder and extends her hand. “I’m Robin.” 

Her handshake is firm, but her eyes are soft. The fine bottles of liquor behind her are backlit by an unseen light source, giving the illusion of stained glass. She quickly turns around and rummages through the minifridge and grabs two beers. 

“You know the rules, Munson, don’t get too rowdy and clean up when you’re done.” She says, popping the caps off of the beverages and setting them down on the counter.

“Me?” Eddie grasps his chest in faux incredulity, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Too rowdy? Never.” 

Robin sticks her tongue out at him in response right as she’s being flagged down by a customer at the far end of the bar. She salutes the both of you, flouncing away to refill the man’s old-fashioned. 

To your right, there’s something akin to a hall of fame. A collage of pictures of different celebrities that have visited the very room you’re standing in. You wonder if Eddie is up there, but you don’t dare to go see for yourself.

“Can you play?” He asks, walking towards the pool table. 

You make a noncommittal noise. You had played your fair share of games of pool, sure, but never in a setting quite like this. Never with someone like Eddie. Setting your bag down on one of the empty tables that lined the perimeter of the room, you pull out your tape recorder.

“You mind?” You ask, holding up the device in Eddie’s direction. 

Eddie grimaces and shrugs off his leather jacket, draping it over a bar stool at the opposite end of the table. The motion draws attention to the plethora of ink that litters both of his arms.

“Do we have to?” His face scrunches up as he asks the question, a slight whine in his tone. 

You almost feel inclined to say no, if only just to see the wrinkle that has formed between his brows disappear. Another thing you’ve learned about Eddie Munson: he is very hard to say no to. That’s how you ended up in this bar in the first place. 

It would be easy to forgo the tape recorder and pretend that the two of you are just friends hanging out. But if there’s one thing that you know, it’s that the human memory is fallible. You can't risk the quality of your article for the sake of his comfort. 

“It’s what I’m here for.”

Eddie bristles at your response but says nothing. He takes a square of blue chalk and thoughtfully rubs it on the end of his pool cue. The sunglasses he took off are tugging down at his v-neck, exposing sharp collarbones and even more ink. 

“I have a proposition for you.” Eddie declares. 

You raise an eyebrow. 

“For every ball you sink, you get to ask me a question about my life. For every ball I sink, I get to ask you about yours.”

You let out an incredulous laugh, thinking that he can’t possibly be serious. But he just stands there, staring at you as he sets the blue piece of chalk down at the edge of the table. 

“Final offer. Take it or leave it.” He throws both palms up in the air, pool cue tucked into his side. 

For the second time today, you take Eddie’s words as a challenge.

“You’re on.” 

Eddie takes his time setting up the game. While he’s leaning over the side of the table gathering the scattered spheres, you can’t help yourself from admiring his silhouette. The back of his shirt rides up, revealing a strip of skin that you cannot tear your eyes away from. 

Oh my god.

Eddie Munson has a tramp stamp. 

A chaotic collection of branches and thorns surrounds a Latin phrase: lectori salutem. You rack your brain, trying to remember the one semester of elective Latin that you took back in freshman year of college when Eddie suddenly turns around. You quickly look up to meet his eyes, but the smirk on his face reveals everything. 

For the second time today, Eddie has caught you staring. 

“Ladies first.” He says, grandly gesturing toward the table. 

You break the rack. A blur of colors bursts forth in every direction. Despite your best efforts, none of the balls make it into a pocket. Looking back at Eddie, you see he’s still got that smirk on his face. He leans over and effortlessly knocks a ball into a pocket. Stripes. 

“Where did you go to school?”

“NYU.” You reply, having been asked this question so many times that the response is practically automatic at this point.

Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Out-of-state tuition must’ve cost a pretty penny.”

“I had a scholarship.”

“Wow. Pretty and smart. You’re kind of the whole package, aren’t you?” The teasing lilt in his voice doesn’t take away from the sincerity in his words. 

The compliment flusters you, which you’re sure is the whole point of Eddie’s making it. 

“Only one question, remember? It’s still your turn.” 

Eddie sees right through your attempt to deflect. Graciously, he doesn’t point it out. He just leans down once again and lines up a shot. Stripes Twelve. Right lower pocket. 

“Why do you hate New York?”

The sureness with which he asks the question throws you for a loop. Whatever you had expected to come out of Eddie’s mouth, it definitely wasn’t that. 

“What makes you think I hate New York?”

“Tsk tsk. I’m asking the questions here.” Eddie scolds, but his voice is devoid of any real ire. He plants his hands on the table, leaning towards you. You can just barely see the faint outline of a gravestone on his right forearm. “You don’t hate it, but you don’t love it either.”

In the five minutes that have passed since he started questioning you, Eddie has managed to see right through you. You’re starting to wonder if you’re actually that transparent or if he is just that good at reading people.

“I don’t know. My dad is from there. Whenever he talked about New York, it always seemed like some mythical place. He always said ‘Don’t live in New York so long it makes you hard. Don’t live in California so long it makes you soft.’ I guess I went to New York to prove to myself that I could, y’know. Prove that I could leave the nest and not fall flat on my face.”

Heat blooms in your chest during your ramblings. The pressure you feel is so much that you’re surprised steam hasn’t started coming out of your ears. Despite knowing exactly why you went to New York, you’ve never said the real reason out loud. It didn’t seem like it mattered to anyone but you. 

Eddie has a thoughtful look on his face. “3,000 miles is a long way to go to prove a point.”

You shrug. Eddie pauses for a moment, waiting for something. At the realization that you’re not going to say anything more, he leans over the table and shoots.

Stripes. Thirteen. Top right pocket.

“Did you?” Eddie posits, elaborating on the quirk of your brow. “Prove your point?”

You want to laugh. That’s the same question you’ve been asking yourself since you made the move back west. The prodigal daughter returned with nothing to show for it. 

“I proved that living in California my whole life made me soft.” You admit, gazing down at the table, the floor, your shoes, anywhere but his face. 

Eddie frowns in your periphery. He has a clear shot at the far end of the table. You wish he would take it already. 

“It’s not a bad thing, y’know.” Eddie’s fiddling with his pool cue, generously rubbing more blue chalk on the end. You don’t know much about pool, but you doubt that it’s necessary. It seems like he’s doing it more to prolong the inevitable. “Being soft.”

“Isn’t it?”

You’re almost sure that he’s joking. Actually–you’re sure that he’s making fun of you. He must be. The notion makes you angry. Oh, of course, the heavy metal rockstar is extolling the virtues of being soft! You look up, a snide remark already on the tip of your tongue. But when you finally meet his eyes, his gaze is intense. Contemplative, even. You take another sip of your beer and hope it washes away the lingering bitterness. 

Eddie Munson and his damn sincerity.

He looks as if he’s about to say something, but then decides against it. He leans over, lining up that clear shot that you had spotted earlier. His necklace hangs from his neck, the red guitar pick grazing green cloth. 

Stripes. Nine. Middle left pocket. 

“So,” Eddie starts, smiling satisfactorily to himself. “Do you actually have my face tattooed on your ass?”

If his earlier question about hating New York shocked you, then this one was like being struck by lightning. You gape at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. You should’ve known that this would come back to bite you.

“It’s just a question.” He defends. “I’m genuinely curious.”

“No, Eddie, I do not have your face tattooed on my ass.” 

“But you do have a shrine of me in your room.”

“I am this close to using this pool cue to poke both your eyes out.” You threaten, absolutely buzzing with mortification. 

“Fine! Fine, I’ll let it go.” He concedes, before saying the next few words under his breath. “For now.” 

Eddie is the opposite of a bad sport when he misses his next shot. He only clicks his tongue and gives a slight shake of his head. You’re relieved that you finally have the chance to get out from under his microscope. 

Solids. Four. Bottom left pocket.  

“What do you like most about living in LA?” You ask. You know that it’s cliché, that everyone who moves here is asked the same question. But you can’t help but want to hear everyone’s answers. Each person you meet paints a picture of your hometown with vibrant colors. It’s always refreshing to hear a new perspective. 

“The food, oh my god, the food!” He practically moans. “I swear whatever bullshit they were passing off as Mexican food back in Indiana should be investigated.” 

Eddie goes on a whole tangent about tortillas that could easily be used in a commercial advertising the food scene of southern California. All of the talk about tortillas reminds him of his favorite food truck, located in East Los Angeles. It’s parked right across the street from a record store. He discovered it while trying to visit every record store in the city. 

“And speaking of record stores… I mean, fuck, you can’t find half the obscure shit that you have here back in Indiana. There’s no point in shipping your shit out to the midwest if no one’s gonna buy it I’m guessing.”

“I never even thought of that.” You admit. Every time you walked into a music store, there was always a new shipment waiting for a band you had never heard of. “Growing up, my favorite thing was always to go to the record store. Even if I didn’t buy anything, I would just sit in one of the booths and listen to vinyl.”

You smile at the memory of the sun streaming through windows and chunky headphones too big for your adolescent head. The nostalgia clouds your mind so much that you fumble the next shot, accidentally knocking a striped ball into a pocket and giving Eddie the chance to ask you yet another question. 

“Do you regret going to NYU?”

“No.” You say, and you mean it. “I think it’s good to get out of your comfort zone. I think… I think it’s important to figure out what’s wrong for you. Maybe even more important than figuring out what’s right.”

Eddie hums in agreement and excuses himself to go to the bathroom. You take the opportunity to eject the tape from the recorder and put in a fresh one. Tucking the tape into your bag, you remember that you still have the mixtape Eddie made for you. You make a mental note to listen to it on the way home.

“Having fun?” Robin appears next to you, gathering a few bottles that hapless patrons have left behind. She lifts Eddie’s off the table and adds it to her collection. You hadn’t even noticed that he had finished it. 

“Eddie is absolutely kicking my ass at pool right now.”

She barks out a laugh. 

“I know the feeling. We used to play with each other all the time back in Hawkins. I think I only won once, and that was because he was high off his ass.” 

Your ears perk up at the mention of the small town in Indiana. You could tell from their interactions that they were close, but this was a whole other level. Does she know about 1986? 

“Maybe he’ll have mercy on me.” You muse, slightly wincing at the doubtful look Robin gives you.

“I have faith in you. Don’t let Edward get into your head.” She squeezes your shoulder as she leaves, the glass bottles clinking in her wake. 

So, you think to yourself, Eddie stands for Edward. It’s a regal-sounding name. A little too refined for the rockstar who’s rough around the edges.

When Eddie returns from the bathroom, he holds two more beers in his hand. You’re about to say that you still haven’t even finished your first one. That you think one is enough. You still have to drive back, after all. But he sets both of them down next to his leather jacket, making it clear that they’re both for him. He sniffles as he approaches, giving a small cough to clear his throat. His knuckles brush the tip of his nose until it glows an angry red, even in the dim lighting. He pulls up his pool cue right to the edge of the green-striped ball. He’s got a clear shot. 

He shoots.

He misses. 

You quietly breathe out a sigh of relief. Despite the fact that your job is to get into the nitty-gritty of people’s lives, you’ve never been on the receiving end. It’s unnerving. There’s a reason why you’re a writer. You like the control of rough drafts and rewrites and edits. It leaves less room for misinterpretation.  

Circling the table, you hope to find an easy shot. 

“You have to actually hit the balls with the stick for them to go anywhere,” Eddie says, taking a long sip from his second beer. “Just wanted to make sure that you knew that.”

You roll your eyes at his obvious attempt to psych you out. Leaning over the far end of the table, you balance the pool cue delicately between your fingers. When you finally make the shot you smile to yourself as not just one, but two of the balls go careening into pockets at opposite ends of the table.

“You know, I’ve half a mind to think you were hustling me, sweetheart.” Eddie takes a long sip from his second beer, the condensation dripping down his hand. 

“It’s not hustling if you just assumed I would be bad at it.” You’re so proud of yourself that you can’t help the smugness in your voice. “What’s your middle name?”

“Now you’re crossing the line.” He deadpans. “That’s just too far.” 

“Oh come on, Edward.” At the sound of his legal name, Eddie’s facade drops. The reaction encourages you to continue your teasing. “It can’t be that bad.”

“How do you know that’s what Eddie stands for?”

“I have my sources.”

“Your sources could be wrong. It could stand for Edison. Or Edmund. Or Edgar.”

“Something tells me my sources are correct.” Your eyes flick over to the freckled girl behind the counter. Eddie catches your glance and kisses his teeth, shaking his head in exasperation. 

“What if you’re secretly a fairy who’s trying to get me to say my full name so that I’m indebted to you for the rest of my life?”

“Fine. Don’t tell me your middle name.” You concede, trying to come up with a better question.  “How did you know that I was a writer? Back in your room–when I picked up the book–you called me a writer.” 

“Isn’t that like, your whole thing?” Eddie waves his hand flippantly. 

“Yeah. But there’s a difference between journalistic writing and fiction writing. How did you know that I do both?”

Eddie takes another drink from the beer in his hand, thumb grazing the label. 

“Maybe I’m ‘thorough in my research’ too.” He says, quoting your words back to you.

It’s a non-answer and both of you know it. You decide not to press the issue. Maybe Eddie isn’t such a good sport after all. You started winning and he stopped playing fair, dodging your questions left and right. For someone who is supposed to be getting interviewed, he isn’t doing a very good job. You settle on a topic you hope he’s willing to actually talk about. 

“Patsy Cline.”

“What about Patsy Cline?”

“She didn’t exactly fit in with all of the metal.”

“My Uncle Wayne loves Patsy Cline. He would always play her records whenever he was cooking or cleaning. I guess listening to it reminds me of home.”

“So do you actually like it? Or do you just find it comforting?”

“Is there a difference?” Eddie muses at you from behind the lip of his beer bottle, before taking a long swig. “Wayne actually gave me that vinyl as a parting gift. He said it’s for ‘when you want to listen to real music’. He was only joking. Kinda.”

Eddie visibly softens while recalling the man who raised him. His tense shoulders have drooped and his jaw unclenches. He speaks of the older man with an unmatched fondness. 

“Wayne sounds like a funny guy.” You smile, sidling up to Eddie. “What’s he like?”

“He’s the best. He took me in when I was just about this big.” He juts his palm out at his waist.  “I had big ears, a buzzcut, and a gigantic chip on my shoulder. I was so– I was so angry at the world. He was the first person who told me it was okay to feel that way. 

He was a trucker before I came along, but then he quit and started working at the plant so that he could be there for me. Everything I do, it’s all for him.”

The words make your heart clench. Sparing yourself the embarrassment of revealing just how much his words got to you, you take your next shot. With misty eyes, you see the flash of blue make its way across the table and into a pocket. You already know what you’re gonna ask him. 

“Say you get everything you want. You win Grammys. You sell out Madison Square Garden. What next?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” Eddie polishes off the third beer. “I’d probably start by buying Wayne a house, but that’s if he’ll even let me. He’s always saying that I’m the kid and he’s the adult. That he’s supposed to be taking care of me, not the other way around.”

He lets out a quiet burp, which he muffles with his fist. His pool cue has been long forgotten next to him. The configuration on the table before you tells you that you can win in just two more rounds. You’re not sure if you want to. You try anyway. 

Solids. Three. Middle right pocket. 

“Does your reputation actually matter to you?”

“That’s a loaded question.” Eddie leans backward. He’s a little unsteady on his feet, the effects of the alcohol seeming to finally kick in. “Off the record?”

“Off the record.” 

You make a show of grabbing the tape recorder and clicking the stop button. You slide it over the wooded lip of the table, proving to him that the device really isn’t recording anymore. 

“Of course, my reputation matters to me. Anyone who says they don’t care about their reputation is lying. Sure, you learn to brush it off. You learn to expect that everyone you meet is gonna have preconceived notions about you. Whatever. People have always had some shit to say about me, I say let ‘em talk.

But it never gets any easier realizing that everyone you meet thinks they know you just because of some shit they read in a magazine. It never gets easier knowing that nothing you do belongs to you anymore.”

Eddie’s words weigh on you. Whether or not he realizes it, you fall into both those categories. You had turned your nose up at the lousy headlines. You had thought he was just another reckless rockstar. Now, you’re tasked with writing him a new one, one that’ll make people like you see him in a better light. It's still the same. He still doesn’t get to control how this story ends. 

“Is that why you agreed to this interview?”

You know you’re essentially wasting a question. Whatever his answer will be won’t matter in the long run, because you won’t be able to use it. You want to know the answer anyway. 

Eddie looks down at the table and then back to you. You know that he could tell you that you used up your question. That if he was a little less drunk he would probably diffuse the tension by quipping back to you, only one question, remember? He doesn’t. He sees that you have the winning shot perfectly laid out for you. This time, he doesn’t prolong the inevitable.

“Yeah, it is.”

You make the shot. Just like that, the game is over. Your victory feels hollow. 

A blue-striped ball sits lonely on the table. A question left unasked. An answer left unheard. 

Eddie puts his leather jacket back on and brings the empty beer bottles back to Robin. You pick up the tape recorder. It feels like dead weight in your hands.

You meet Eddie at the counter, where he’s happily chatting with an amused Robin, all previous tension regarding your last question seemingly forgotten. You bid your goodbyes. The two of you shuffle awkwardly together towards the entrance before Eddie gets distracted by something.

“Oh my god, I love these!” Eddie regards the gumball machine full of small, shitty prizes with a childlike wonder. 

He grabs his wallet from the pocket of his jacket, dutifully pulling out two quarters. He shoves them both into the coin slots and cranks the handle. The machine spits out a plastic capsule with a bright green lid. He takes the prize and thrusts it into your hands. 

“For you.”

You’re confused by the sentimental gesture but decide not to question it. Shaking the contents out into your hand, the prize reveals itself to be an 8 ball keychain. 

“Hey! We match!” Eddie pulls out the motorcycle keys from his pocket, and sure enough there’s an 8 ball hanging from the key ring that’s identical to the one you’re holding in your hand. 

“Yeah.” You smile to yourself, twirling the small sphere between your fingers. “We do.”

The drive back to the house in West Hollywood is quiet this time. You elected to switch from the cassette to the radio as soon as you got in. The sounds of classic rock drift between the two of you. Eddie spends the entire drive looking out the window, proving himself to be a quiet and contemplative drunk rather than an obnoxious and outspoken drunk. 

Pulling up to the curb, you feel slightly awkward. You’ve never been good at goodbyes. 

“You doing anything tomorrow?” Eddie’s head flops in your direction, his body language giving away the depth of his inebriation. 

“Um.” You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what he might be planning. “It depends. What time?”

“Around noon? We have a recording session tomorrow and I just thought maybe you’d like to hear some of the stuff we’ve been working on. Plus you’d get to meet the other guys. It would be good, right? For your article.”

He says the last sentence as if it’s an afterthought. 

“For the article.” 

“It’s at the recording studio near Sunset? Big red sign, can’t miss it.” He’s using his hands again as he talks. The silver rings glint under the yellow of the street lamps. “Can I have your number, though? Just in case it gets canceled or something. I don’t want you to show up and think I’m sending you on a wild goose chase.”

“Sure.” You rattle off the number for him. Eddie continues looking at you, glassy-eyed and rosy-cheeked. “Are you sure you don’t want me to write it down for you?”

“I have a good memory.” He grins toothily, tapping his temple with his index finger. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

With that, he tumbles out of the car and stumbles to the front door. You watch his retreating figure with the realization that you’ve barely scratched the surface of who Eddie Munson is.

You remember to swap cassettes before pulling away. As you begin mentally writing the beginnings of his article in your head, the mixtape plays softly in the background. 

Living in a world of make believe 

I can hide behind what's real

But wearing your emotions on your sleeve

And they all know what you feel

taglist: @twisted-wonderland-of-wren@cloudroomblog@amira0303@forrestfae6@aysheashea@vintagehellfire@poisonedluv @kimmi-kat@mmunson86

if your username is crossed out it means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you 💔

[f4iry-bell]

Stained shirt and two seats for one | part 2

mostly written from graysons pov, from next part it'll from readers pov AND ive decided a name!!! it's Arya!!!! she looks just like you.

← previous part

It has been exactly two days since Grayson landed in London to meet his half sisters. He loved both of his sisters dearly but Grayson Hawthorne is a man who needs some time alone with himself sometimes. He did not care about what people would think, he was too busy to care about how they view him for the things he does. Things like dining alone in a fancy restaurant. And when he is alone, he doesn't just eat and relax, he thinks about his work, he has been working alongside with his aunt in the Hawthorne Foundation and in Hannah, same as forward as backwards. Even though his grandfather has cut him and his brothers off his fortune, Grayson managed to make enough and more money by investing.

Once he was done with his food he was looking at a few paperworks, something that you'd find a person doing in a cafe not at a fancy restaurant. Finally he decided to call the waiter to get the bill but that's when something caught his eyes. Someone across his table, with very familiar wavy hair. That girl. She looked different from the last time he saw her, she was wearing a white shirt layered with a black vest, he couldn't see her bottoms as it was hidden under the table, her hair was pretty much the same except it was neatly done. There was a hint of makeup as well. She was sitting on the table not 8 feet far away from him with someone, a guy. A date? boyfriend? 

Has she been here the whole time? His first thought was that she was stalking Grayson but he erased that thought when he saw her with some random guy and having a serious and professional conversation with the guy. She was using her iPad to show him something, Grayson can't tell what was on the screen but he could see there was a lot of writing. He watched her talk to this unknown guy for a while until the waiter asked him if he was ready to pay. Grayson ordered a cup of coffee and watched her again. He observed her movements, he noticed she speaks while using a lot of hand movements and has a very expressive face, the way her eyes widened every now and then, he even tried to read her lips. He told himself that was the only reason his eyes wandered to her lips.

Finally the guy stood up and shook her hand before leaving the restaurant. Grayson watched her as she did something on her iPad and then kept it inside her bag, his heart skipped a beat when her eyes left her bag and directly met him. She was just as shocked as Grayson when he noticed her presence. And she saw him while he was looking at her, she must think he was a creep, Grayson expected her to scrunch her face in disgust but instead she gave him a closed mouthed smile and a weak wave. Grayson looked back to make sure she was waving at him even though he was 99% sure that she was waving at him. 

With no choice, he waved back. That was how their interaction should have ended but it did not. Just a wave because after all they are still strangers. He doesn't even know her name. Maybe he should ask her name, but why? His legs started moving on its own, something was pulling him towards her table, it was like a magnetic force. 

He was grateful that she spoke first. “Hi.” it was all she said.

“I see you've managed to change to a cleaner attire” He comments.

“I did.” It was a bit awkward. Neither of them knew what to say. “I’m Arya.” So that's her name. Arya. If she is giving him her name, it means she wants to know him, right? 

“Grayson” His tone was neutral yet again, impossible to read.

“If this was our first time meeting, I'd say ‘nice to meet you’ but giving our previous encounter…” She said in a joking manner.

“Once again I'm sorry about that. May I ask, what are you doing here? London is a big city, is it a coincidence that we are seeing eachother again?” He asked. Hoping that it didn't sound weird. 

“Well I had a meeting with a client of mine. Are you suggesting that I'm stalking you?” She asked, he looked for offence in her face but he only found a surprised smile.

“No. I mean, no.” He was quick with his words. “Client? So you're here for work, I see” He quickly changed the topic. 

“Mhmm. What about you?” She asked, dropping the previous topic.

“Family.” Was all he said. 

“That's nice,” She said. There it was the awkward silence yet again. He was still standing.

“What do you do? For work?” He asked out of curiosity and immediately regretted it. She looked like she was ready to leave and he is keeping her here.

“Public relations.” She answers. “Why don't you have a seat?” She motioned towards the seat in front of her. He hesitated but sat anyway. He told himself that he was only engaging in this conversation because he is curious about her.

“That is interesting. You must be good with words.” He told her.

She chuckled, “I’m not that good, giving that I started like 9 months ago” 

“Just 9 months ago? So you got the job as soon as you finished your studies?” He asked with a frown, she looks young she must have just gotten out of university.

“I did an internship last year. For like three agencies.” She said.

“Three? You must really like this field then, at what place are you in now? at your job? ” He asked.

“I'm definitely not the manager given my years of experience, I work with a team. What work do you do?” She asked.

“Family business.” He said and immediately switched back to her life “So where is your team?” He asked.

“In Singapore. Our client wasn't able to make it back to Singapore because of some personal reasons. So one of us had to come here and clear things up.” She told him.

Grayson leaned back “Then you must be really good at what you do”

“Maybe” She shrugged.

There was a moment of silence. “Am I keeping you from something? I'm sorry, you were about to leave” Grayson asked.

“No, it's fine. I actually have nothing to do. My meeting with the client is over. If you weren't here, I would just go back to my hotel and sleep because I'm leaving London tomorrow early in the morning.” She chuckled.

She's leaving that soon?

“Why not explore?” He asked. 

“I didn't think I'd have time, so I didn't prepare what to explore,” She replied.

“This is your first time in London, right?” He asked. 

“Yep”

“And you would like to explore?”

“Yes”

“Then you should let me take you exploring” He offered “I'm a good tour guide.”

She smiled and nodded.

Like he said, he was indeed a good guide, he explained things with its  history. He mostly took her to posh places that he has been, Arya already knew he is rich from his looks, but the places he took her showed her that he is filthy rich. Grayson almost forgot that he was in London to see his sisters and not tour guiding a pretty girl. He actually enjoyed her company. She was polite, humble and even funny in her own way. They talked a lot, mostly about her, Grayson was interested in her before but learning more about her only kept him fascinated. 

There was a feeling that nagged him when it was time for her to get back to her hotel. He dropped her off at her hotel. 

He will never see her again.

next part →

[watatsumiis]

Some Pantalone headcanons <3

Some of my personal headcanons for Pantalone below the cut since my dash is flooded with him at the moment (as it should be)

Content warning for intrusive thoughts, mentions of skin/hair picking/pulling, compulsions, possible disordered eating.

Disclaimer: I write Pantalone as having OCD in this, please be aware that these traits aren't shared by everyone who has OCD, this is a set of headcanons that I have made based on personal experience and research, not a diagnostic list or a generalisation.

Pantalone has OCD - though he masks very well and keeps up his cool, unphased charade when around others, spending any significant amount of time around him and observing his behaviours makes it fairly clear.

He struggles quite badly with skin picking especially, his arms and shoulders are marked with faint scars, as well as his face, but he uses makeup to conceal it. This habit is a bit part of the reason why he wears gloves, so that it's harder for him to do so. He can sometimes get snappy with people who try to verbally remind him not to pick, but his anger is more directed at himself than anyone else, he just projects it outwards as a way of hiding his insecurities surrounding his struggles.

He twirls his hair absently, and occasionally may pick at his eyebrows or eyelashes when he's extremely stressed and overwhelmed. Sometimes he ends up with a tangled, matted fringe just because of how much he pulls and twirls at it.

Pantalone struggles back and forth with the way he views people like cleaners and cooks - logically he knows they are their own people, with their own families and quirks, but there's some part of his brain that just can't cope with that. He needs the 'relationship' to be purely transactional, almost clinical in nature - he can't know anything about the people who do those sorts of jobs, or else it just gnaws at his mind and wears on him until he has some kind of breakdown thanks to it. The more detached the worker, the better he copes. He doesn't know the name of his personal chef, or the person who cleans his quarters, and he likes it that way. He pays them handsomely and makes sure they're treated well, but no more than that.

His food needs to be prepared a certain way, by a certain person. He dislikes cooking for himself since it takes an obscenely long time due to the fact that he gets caught up with hygiene. He only trusts a small handful of restaurants, and sometimes he'll send subordinates in to scope out kitchens in places where he'll be staying. If they don't meet his standards, or he has an 'off' feeling about them, he'll bring his own food, which often ends up with him living off of preserves when he's on long trips where he can't bring his personal chef.

Observing closely, a fair amount of his rituals and compulsions can be traced back to his poor upbringing - he's picky with food due to repeated bouts of food poisoning due to poor quality ingredients and cooking conditions when he was young, he can't stand uncleanliness thanks to sicknesses caused directly by bad living conditions, he's strict when locking doors and windows due to repeated break-ins when he lived in a poorer neighbourhood.

He has a 'circular' way of sorting and working on things, he can work on a lot of papers at once, they just have to be in the right order, so he can flit in a clockwise direction through them all, switching seamlessly between each one without getting them mixed up.

Nobody can touch or clean his desk except for him - though it may look 'messy' at first glance, he understands it all perfectly and will know immediately if anything gets moved at all.

He keeps himself carefully detached from most people, he often views non-professional relationships as complicated and messy. He plays up his 'snooty' attitude as a defense mechanism to keep people away from him.

He can sometimes tolerate La Signora's company (after some light 'reconnaissance' missions into her quarters). They have similar tastes in wine, cheeses, and fruits and will sometimes share gossip.

Despite his haughty attitude, all of the people who work under him have good pay and benefits, and due to that, there's often a lot of people fighting over applying to work for him instead.

He always respects everyone equally upon meeting them, no matter their appearance or background - lots of people spread rumours about him being cruel and mean to the poor for the sake of it, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

He often makes large anonymous donations to organisations that he knows are good and trustworthy.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagarise my writing! This includes posting translations to other sites.

[raicleaning]

Discover the cleaning experts your local restaurants trust! Our dedicated team ensures every dining establishment sparkles with hygiene. From kitchens to dining areas, we're your local restaurant cleaning company, committed to maintaining a safe, spotless environment. Feast your eyes on cleanliness – we make it a reality!

[tumbl-census]

If you’ve applied for a job in the UK recently, you might have seen this question on the application form in the diversity section

modern professional and traditional professional occupations such as: teacher, nurse, physiotherapist, social worker, musician, police officer (sergeant or above), software designer, accountant, solicitor, medical practitioner, scientist, civil or mechanical engineer.

senior, middle or junior managers or administrators such as: finance manager, chief executive, large business owner, office manager, retail manager, bank manager, restaurant manager, warehouse manager.

clerical and intermediate occupations such as: secretary, personal assistant, call centre agent, clerical worker, nursery nurse.

technical and craft occupations such as: motor mechanic, plumber, printer, electrician, gardener, train driver.

routine, semi-routine manual and service occupations such as: postal worker, machine operative, security guard, caretaker, farm worker, catering assistant, sales assistant, HGV driver, cleaner, porter, packer, labourer, waiter or waitress, bar staff.

long-term unemployed (claimed Jobseeker’s Allowance or earlier unemployment benefit for more than a year)

small business owners who employed less than 25 people such as: corner shop owners, small plumbing companies, retail shop owner, single restaurant or cafe owner, taxi owner, garage owner

other such as: retired, this question does not apply to me, I don’t know

[onthespotcleanersinc]

The On The Spot Guide To Cleaning Dust

No matter where or how you live, dust will make itself at home in your house. Some household members may experience it more viscerally, with eyes red and watery, and sleepless nights punctuated by incessant sneezing and congestion. You may live in farm country, where at certain times of the year, extra layers of dust appear on every surface. There are actions you can take and services you can hire out to significantly lessen dust for a healthier and more comfortable for everyone. Randy Spurling, Carpet Cleaner and owner of On The Spot Cleaners, has the ultimate dust cleaning guide for you read more. 

[alpinemicrogreens]

Harvest Morning & New Horizons: A Prelude to Alpine Microgreen's Dreams

https://youtu.be/dvhm765gOhA

🌞🌱 Day 12 Harvest Day & A Peek into the Future! 🌱🌞

Happy Monday, everyone! 🎉 Let's start the week with a burst of motivation: "Every morning starts a new page in your story. Make it a great one today!" As we harvest today’s bounty, we're also gearing up for an exciting new chapter starting on the first of May at our upcoming Alpine Microgreens Farm! 📖💪

Today marks a pivotal moment in our microgreens journey—not only are we reaping the lush harvest of our current crops, but we're also on the brink of expanding our passion into a bigger space next month. This harvest presented a significant learning experience. I distributed my products to six different golf courses and three restaurants, where I received feedback that emphasized the need for better packaging and a cleaner presentation. Instead of using see-through clamshells and a plain white plastic bag without any labels, it became clear that a more professional and appealing packaging approach was necessary. The next round of samples will be sourced from our newly established Alpine Microgreens Farm! 🌿🚀🌿🚀

📚 Intriguing Microgreens Facts for Harvest Day:

Rapid Growth Cycles: Microgreens are the sprinters of agriculture, ready for harvest within just 1 to 3 weeks after planting, making them an ideal crop for continuous production cycles. 🕒🌱

Nutrient Powerhouses: They pack a remarkable nutritional punch, often containing higher levels of vitamins and minerals per gram than their mature plant counterparts. 🍽️💪

Sustainability Champions: Microgreens require minimal water and space, making them a sustainable choice for urban settings and reducing our ecological footprint. 🌍♻️

As we celebrate today's harvest, let’s look forward to the opportunities that Alpine Microgreens Farm will bring starting this May. This new facility, with its ample space and dedicated areas for growth, will enable us to cultivate more varieties and connect more closely with our community. 🏡🌱

Here’s to a fruitful harvest today and to the future growth at Alpine Microgreens Farm! 🌟🍃

Stay inspired, and let’s make this week as abundant as our microgreens harvest!

#Day12 #MicrogreensJourney #HarvestDay #MondayMotivation #AlpineMicrogreensFarm #ComingSoon #SustainableFarming #UrbanAgriculture #LocalGrowth #FreshHarvest #PlantPower #HealthyEating #GrowYourOwn #EcoFriendly #NutrientDense #RapidGrowth #FutureExpansion #GardenFresh #NewBeginnings #GreenThumb #UrbanGardeners #EatLocal 🌱🎉🌿🌞💚y 🌞🌱💧✨💚✨🌱💚

Watch as nature works its magic, one leaf at a time, and discover the beauty and wonder of microgreens! 💫

Don't forget to like, share, and subscribe for more green goodness! 🌱💚       

Join the conversation and share your own microgreens adventures in the comments below! 💬

Let's celebrate the marvels of nature together!   #AprilFun 🌱💫💪🌱 #MicrogreensTraining #GreenGains #HealthyHabits #GrowYourOwn #UrbanGardening #TinyButMighty #PlantPower #HomegrownGoodness #TikTokGardening #GreenThumb #AlpineMicrogreens #London #Ontario #Canada #EatYourGreens #Vegetables #MicrogreenFarmer #AlpineFarmer #Microgreens #CrispAlpineMicrogreens 🌱💚🌱🎥 🌱💫 #MicrogreenMagic #GrowthJourney #ShareYourGreens 🌱🌟

[ainyan]

Humorous Writing Prompts

Here is a set of 30 writing prompts to help create funny short/flash fiction stories involving your favorite character/OC.

1. [Character] and their nemesis must reschedule their battle due to a scheduling conflict.

2. Write a story inspired by the concept of arigata-meiwaku — a favor that turns out to be a nuisance for its recipient.

3. [Character] is late to witness a special event.

4. [Character] is determined to not have their day spoiled — but the universe is trying their patience.

5. PoV: A carbuncle.

6. Write a story set in an important meeting where a professional interpreter takes some liberties with their duties.

7. [Character] goes to great lengths to return an unwanted gift.

8. PoV: The descendant of a minor but well-remembered character in the story.

9. [Character] checks the time. Perfect. As intended, they've arrived fashionably late.

10. PoV: Someone in the middle of a very long and busy retail shift.

11. "It was just here!" [Character] shouts, frantically searching their pockets for the missing thing.

12. PoV: A total novice on their first day of learning a new job/craft.

13. [Character] is a reluctant expert on a topic they wish they didn’t know so much about.

14. [Character], who is trying to create art but is constantly interrupted.

15. Write a story where a chocolate cake plays a significant role.

16. It's 2 a.m. and [Character] is heading home, reflecting on the night they just had.

17. [Character] is a professional cleaner and the beginning of spring is always their busiest time.

18. One of [Character]'s friends is terrible at everything, but have always been convinced they're extremely talented. Today's the day they find out the hard truth.

19. [Character] has an injury in a rather… inconvenient place, and they're trying not to let anyone know.

20. A parent is trying to explain something to their child, who just isn’t getting it.

21. “Now that’s something you definitely shouldn’t try at home.”

22. They said it wasn’t a contest, but [Character] is still determined to win.

23. [Character] just finished ranting about [blank], only to find out that [blank] was standing right behind you. (Fill in the blank!)

24. [Character] wakes up one morning and can’t stop rhyming everything they say.

25. Interview a villain.

26. PoV: A waitress working at one of the city's most romantic (and busy) restaurants on Valentine's Day.

27. "Love is a battlefield" had never rang so true.

28. PoV: A brand new employee is starting their first shift — at their first job ever — in the busiest, biggest store in town, on the busiest day of the year.

29. [Character] is on a blind date — with their sworn enemy.

30. It was the highest stakes game of rock-paper-scissors ever played.

[elegantlaundry]

The Best Dry Cleaning and Laundry Services Near in Dubai

Elegant laundry and dry-cleaning services are an upcoming laundry chain with a strong legacy, based in Dubai. For over 20 years, we've been providing top-notch service to customers in the United Kingdom. Our company is run by a dedicated proprietor with more than 15 years of experience, steering clear of global corporations. We're all about delivering the finest laundry and dry-cleaning service, Steam Ironing, Carpet Cleaning, staying updated on the latest technology and cleaning methods.

We use the latest tech and follow industry standards to make sure you get the best bang for your buck. We've got the latest equipment and tech, and our team is trained to give you top-notch laundry service any time in Dubai. Plus, we can Pick up and Delivery anywhere in Dubai, and our packages are tailored to fit your budget.

We've got your laundry needs covered, whether it's for individuals and homes or large commercial establishments in the Dubai. For individuals, we offer a variety of laundry packages tailored to your specific needs, whether it's your kids' school uniforms, daily and office wear, or even curtains and carpets.

In addition, we provide top-notch commercial laundry services in Dubai that cater to a wide range of businesses, including large corporations, hospitals, hotels, restaurants, schools, hostels, malls. We're your one-stop solution for all your laundry needs delivering quality and convenience across anywhere in Dubai.

Why Choose Laundry Services in Dubai?

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We are experts in professional laundry services. We ensure that your fabric is taken care of in the best possible fashion.  We have the latest laundry and dry clean equipment and we follow industry best practices.

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[ammg-old2]

Yevgeny Prigozhin was born in Leningrad, now St Petersburg, in 1961, nine years after Putin. His father died when he was young; his mother worked in a hospital, Prigozhin has said. The young Prigozhin was sent to a sporting academy, where daily activities often involved hours of cross-country skiing.

He didn’t make the cut as a professional athlete, and after finishing school he fell in with a crowd of petty criminals. Court documents from 1981, seen by the Guardian and first reported on by the Russian investigative outlet Meduza, tell the story.

One evening in March 1980, during the dreary tail-end of Leonid Brezhnev’s rule over the Soviet Union, the 18-year-old Prigozhin and three friends left a St Petersburg cafe close to midnight and spotted a woman walking alone along the dark street.

One of Prigozhin’s buddies distracted the woman by asking for a cigarette. As she went to open her purse, Prigozhin materialised behind her and grabbed her neck, squeezing until she lost consciousness. Then, his friend slipped off her shoes while Prigozhin deftly removed her gold earrings and pocketed them. The quartet sprinted off, leaving the woman lying on the street.

It was one of many robberies that Prigozhin and his friends carried out in St Petersburg over a period of several months, the court found. He was sentenced to 13 years in prison, and spent the rest of the decade behind bars, missing the death of Brezhnev and Mikhail Gorbachev’s perestroika. He was released in 1990, as the Soviet Union was in its death throes. He returned to St Petersburg.

The city was on the brink of monumental transformation, with great riches awaiting those shrewd or violent enough to seize them. Prigozhin started out modestly, selling hotdogs. He mixed the mustard in the kitchen of his family apartment.

“We made $1,000 a month, which in rouble notes was a mountain; my mum could hardly count it all,” he told the St Petersburg news portal Gorod 812 in 2011, one of his only ever interviews.

But Prigozhin had his sights set higher than fast food, and he knew how to make the contacts he needed. “He always looked for people higher up to befriend. And he was good at it,” said the businessman who knew him in the 1990s.

Before long, Prigozhin owned a stake in a chain of supermarkets, and in 1995 he decided it was time to open a restaurant with his business partners. He found Tony Gear, a British hotel administrator who had previously worked at the Savoy in London and was now at one of St Petersburg’s few luxury hotels.

Prigozhin hired Gear to manage first a wine shop, then his new restaurant, the Old Customs House, on St Petersburg’s Vasilievsky Island.

Initially, the Old Customs House employed strippers as a way to drum up clientele, but soon word got out that the food was excellent, and the strippers were dismissed. Gear focused on marketing the eatery as the most refined place to eat in a city that was only just discovering fine dining. Pop stars and businessmen liked to eat there, as did St Petersburg’s mayor, Anatoly Sobchak, who sometimes came with his deputy, Vladimir Putin.

Gear, who still lives in St Petersburg, declined an interview request. He has previously expressed admiration for Prigozhin but described him as a “very strict” boss, who would even use a special light projector to look for dust under tables each morning, to check the cleaners had worked properly.

Back in the 1990s, Prigozhin did not mention in conversation that he had spent a decade in prison, those who knew him say. He turned on the charm to make the acquaintance of his new high-flying customers.

“He can adapt to please any person if he needs something from them. That is definitely one of his talents,” said the businessman who knew him at the time.

In one of post-Soviet Russia’s more unusual friendships, Prigozhin struck up a camaraderie with the famous cellist Mstislav Rostropovich, who had emigrated from the Soviet Union in the 1970s.

When Rostropovich hosted the queen of Spain at his St Petersburg home in 2001, Prigozhin provided the catering. Rostropovich even invited Prigozhin and his wife to a gala concert at the Barbican, part of the London celebrations of his 75th birthday in 2002, according to London Symphony Orchestra records of the invitation list for the event.

By that time, Putin had become Russia’s president. During the early years of his rule, Putin often liked to meet foreign dignitaries in his home town, and he sometimes took them to the Old Customs House or to New Island, a boat Prigozhin had turned into a floating restaurant.

Going back over photos of Putin’s official engagements from the period is like playing a game of Where’s Yevgeny, with frequent sightings of Prigozhin in the background, unsmiling and unobtrusive. Here he is lurking behind the table as Putin dines with George Bush; there he is hovering behind Prince Charles at a 2003 reception in St Petersburg’s Hermitage museum.

“Putin saw that I wasn’t above bringing the plates myself,” Prigozhin has said. It was the start of a relationship with the Russian president that would grow and metastasise in unexpected ways.