[open] What in the Hell is in Virginia?

[niko]

Virginia. What in the hell was in Virginia?

Nikolai Kalevi. And from what he could tell, not much else.

From the moment he stepped off the bus with his skateboard in hand and a backpack containing everything he owned, Niko was pretty sure he'd picked the most boring ass place in the world to visit. But he hadn't had enough money to get himself to Florida, so by default this was his destination.

"Welcome to Fredericksberg, Virginia," he muttered. "Population: me, my skateboard, and a shit ton of churches. Weather: too friggin hot. Noteable sights: a diner across the street and one of the country's only active payphones."

Niko dropped his skateboard onto the pavement with a sigh, making a mental note to strip off his hoodie the second he got inside.

He skated the several yards to the diner, opened the door, and walked inside. He had three dollars in his pocket. That had to be enough for a coffee, at least.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to leave that outside," the hostess said with a smile and a southern accent.

He looked down at his skateboard and frowned. There was no way for him to lock it up like you could with a bike. He'd gone through a few skateboards over the past few months, but he'd taken a liking to this one and he would've been pissed if it got stolen. He turned and went back outside and circled the building, looking for a place to stow his skateboard.

He found a grouping of bushes and stashed it behind and under them, making sure the black and yellow paint wasn't visible. When he returned to the diner, there was a group of people ahead of him waiting for a table. He took a minute to remove his backpack, slip his brown hooded sweatshirt over his head, and shove it in the backpack.

When the hostess returned from seating the group ahead of him, she greeted him with a smile.

"Can I just grab a seat at the counter?" he asked.

"Certainly."

Niko picked up his backpack and dropped it on the floor, hopping up on a barstool.