Chapter 1: Where am I?
Under the shelter of an industrial, wall-less restaurant, which used steel beams instead of walls, many desks sat. Its exterior took inspiration from Roman pillars and monoliths, the stalks of carbonated iron extending from the Earth, in which they were buried and held up strong by a circular prism at its bottom, wedged between meters of ground, were designed with many rivets and forced imperfections; the flaws would be stated to be a central part of the architecture, showing humanity. Following the theme, a truss roof lingered upon them, curlicues ebbing on its sides and, at the facade, two words were etched, serifs flying off each letter like rockets to Earth, "IHIMAP Cafeteria". The roof was glazed in a layer of sandstone and the pillars had been with rust- a peculiar gradient of pantone 448, to flaky orange and then beige. Below these references, a polished, diorite flooring was set on the grass (which was a surprise to see, as surely the silicon spilled from the dispensers during construction would have transformed areas into granite?) it was lined evenly with thin, pearly marble lines - that made squares- and the unfortunate spilling of coffee from the current lunch. Additionally, petrified, plywood benches spread across it, retreating from the middle to allow access to a wide concrete shack at the back, providing extra support for the truss. Like they didn't get paid several dollars above minimum wage, monochrome, white, paint was splattered lazily over the rectangle, even cladding the edges of the doorframe at the back, that permitted entry to the staff; bubbles of trapped air imploded by eager researchers impatiently craving to get back to work. pointing towards the bench-less space, a lengthy, windowless gap faced, acting as a vomitorium for nourishment, and making some question the use of the door behind, as it was so large. The restaurant was placed on the far left corner of Florida's Kennedy Space Centre Off-branch, the main centre of rocket launches and arrivals: Florida's -and IHIMAP's- greatest landmark.
Near the block of sidewalk, two astronauts loitered with their lunch: a vegan sausage breakfast roll and grain bar. The tortilla on the wrap was robust- flexible and notoriously chewy- and was splattered with black buboes of thin bread and hills of trapped bubbles; it encapsulated a chaotic intertwinement of rivetted iceburg lettuce, razor-cut segments of plump tomatoes, which had seeds clinging on dearly and zingy salad dressing. The grain bar was an assortment of barley, rice and oat, strung together by translucent corn starch. "Really? not even a little stick of it?" She beseeched, her tone restricted to a louder version of her casual talk to prevent shouting, as the marble table they were positioned on was struck by her elbow, to gesture her urgency by leaning a flat, sand-toned palm to him, early, red blisters forming underneath the webbing of her fingers via repetitive twisting of ultra-tight bolts on shuttle prototypes : her eyebrows raised in awe, making the lines near her hazelnut strands of hair scrunch, caused by the fact that he would decline a friendly request. Knots often formed in her hair, opposing her facade of straight hair, as she was naturally curly. "Lowering the amount needed doesn't make me suddenly have it." He responded numbly, not unfixing his eyes from the abscess he formed in his snack, that made granules flutter down onto the stone dalmatian of a table, bemused at how she couldn't take 'no' as an answer. "Her project's tomorrow! Surely you can nip to the shops?" "Suzie, you know how they treat leisure items: 'a waste' and therefore thinks its fare to make the price skyrocket!" "Well, what should I do then‽" Her voice transitioning into desperation more than anger- this was part of her SAT's at primary school, and could impact the start of her secondary life if failed. He laid his unused arm onto the table, "Tape, paint, clay, interlock them like a jigsaw, anything else!" he proclaimed, before clutching his silvery confectionary wrapper and getting up to dispose of it; he lifted his right leg exaggeratedly to mock the company's poor decision to purchase benches with little, brilliant-blue bumpy stools, cladded with a thick plastic casing, connected to the tables by yellow poles. Comfortable with his recommendations, but still bitter, she kept her face begrudged and picked up the untouched burrito, with the bottom and the glazed marble moist from the sauce settling and took a bite, rearranging her ruby stiletto nails, as to not puncture the soft pastry.
Iceburg lettuce danced in her mouth, filling it with a cool, almost-minty essence, and providing a satisfying, whispery crunch when bit; tomato blended with it, turning it into sweetness instead, and helped to calm the wrath of the zingy lemon zest that inhabited the dressing. Flatbread aided to wash it down when swallowed- a mini net. After indulging for three quarters of the sandwich, she decided to finish, and leave to arrive at her station early.
ns216.73.216.98da2
and then Add to home screen.