Chapter 1: First Impression (edited)

The weather was sunny, and the park was filled with joyful people laughing with one another. Everyone was with their loved ones, sharing the laughs which will probably become part of their most memorable memories of life and happiness. There were families playing games, and delighting themselves with prepared picnic foods. The pond was glistening, while a badling of ducks paddled through it. I, myself, was sitting on the everlasting wooden bench, capturing all this joy with a simple pen and sketchbook.

I was always at the park with my pen and sketchbook, and I would always have a nicely brewed Americano coffee with a freshly baked croissant. The cafe called “Franchesca” was just across the street from this park, and I would go there to purchase the coffee and croissant. This became a habit, a tradition, a ritual for myself to go to the park on fridays with my pen, sketchbook, coffee and croissant. Years have passed since my first sketchbook was filled, leading me to buy at least a dozen more sketchbooks. Franchesca's had been there for nearly three decades, and they have never changed their interior. I know this because I have been going to this park for almost four decades.
Franchesca's was, and still is, a popular bakery and cafe. They are always filled with youngsters, people on dates, and business people who want great quality bread or freshly brewed coffee. One step into Franchesca's cafe, and you'd be able to smell the soothing, fragrant coffee beans, along with feeling the great ambiance, and enjoying the classic, yet modern, interior design. Franchesca's was a place where youngsters sparked their relationships, a place where they would normally go on dates, a place where relationships started or ended...People would think that Franchesca's would be closed by now, since the ending of relationships could mean the ending of those customers from ever returning; however, those customers would usually bring their new relationship into Franchesca's. I believe this was how Franchesca's was able to be successful.
As I sat from the park bench, I was sketching the family of ducks paddling across the luminous pond. I would occasionally do this, observing the world in motion and capturing it into my sketchbook. I design cars for a living, and most of my car designs are inspired by animals, the atmosphere, and the environment. Sketching at the park, however, was not for an inspiration for a new car design, it was for me to clear my head. Ever since I was a teenager, drawing and sketching relieved me of stress and frustration, and this sort of carried on onto right now. This park had been here for as long as I could remember, and I just happened to stumble across it one night. Ever since that night, I figured that this park would be the one place where I observed others' happiness and joy, as I sketched it into my sketchbook.
While sketching the family duck paddling in the pond, I unknowingly stopped to look around. I guess I do this a lot, just to see if anyone noticed me sketching. I did not want anyone to see my sketches at the park, I wanted this to be kept to myself, a personal escape from reality. As I looked around, my eyes fixated on Franchesca's cafe. A nice looking classic car was parked right in front of Franchesca's cafe. “Well, what da ya know...” I said. It was a car that I had designed over four decades ago! This car had given me a quick flashback to my old days. As I was waiting to see what kind of a person would drive a car that I had designed, a tow truck had appeared. As the tow truck was towing away this car, a young man with an extremely upset expression rushed out screaming, “Ah shit...ah fuck!”
This young man rushed out of Franchesca's, holding onto a bouquet of yellow roses. Realizing that his car was being towed away, he fell to his knees, bashing the bouquet of flowers on the ground. He showed much anger. He then threw the bashed up bouquet onto the window of Franchesca's cafe while screaming, “You fucking liar!” This young man's ferocity and anger had enticed the attention of the people who were on that block. At that moment I quickly glanced into the window of Franchesca's cafe, only to see a young lady with tears rolling down her eyes, but she was with another man. I quickly summed up the whole ordeal, that the youngster rushing out of Franchesca's was the young lady's boyfriend, but he found her with another man at a place known for “ending and starting relationships”. He must have tried to surprise her with the bouquet of flowers, but instead, caught her cheating with another man.
For some unkown reason, a flashback from my past had struck me. With conviction, and passion, I shouted across the street, “You there, the one that just threw the flowers! Come here, I want a word with you!” All of a sudden, the youngster, filled with frustration and hatred, shouted back, “Who the fuck are you?! Come here if you want to talk to me!” I realized that he was angry, probably at the whole world, at that moment, but I still shouted back, “Look how old and frail I am, you stupid prick!” As if the young man did not already have enough shit flown at his face, I knowingly wanted to subtly provoke him, and to entice him to talk to me.
The youngster, filled with hostility and hatred in his voice, shouted once more, “Fuck you! I don't know you!” And as people started to stare as they walked by both the youngster and me, I shouted once more, with the knowledge that I was probably setting myself up, “I'm the designer of your fuckin car!” He was caught by surprise, and the people who heard me saying the last shout rapidly gathered around me. People jaywalked across the street just to get an autograph from me. I was no celebrity, but I did sign a few autographs. The people who received the autograph, after almost fifteen minutes, left the scene. It probably would have taken five minutes, but some of them wanted me to draw a car for them, which took some time. The young man was the last to walk towards me, but he had not asked me for an autograph or a drawing.
I was finally alone with the youngster. I asked the youngster his name, and he replied, “Are you really who you say you are? How do I know it's really you?” I refused to answer, but rather, I sketched his car that had been towed away. I told him, “I tend to remember all the cars I designed, especially if it was a car designed by me four decades ago.” The youngster finally gave in, and said, “John.” I asked him bluntly, “Was that your girlfriend in Franchesca's cafe?” John did not reply, but his frown on his face said it all. I candidly told him about my summed up version of what had happened to him just a few moments ago. John, with rage, replied to me, “What?! This is my problem. Why are you asking me about my personal life? If you're going to ask that, then why don't you tell me why you're so fuckin obsessed about cars? And how the fuck did you even come up with that bullshit?!” I replied, “I just wanted to hear you out, to help you cope with your problems, and to tell you that I had a heartbreaking incident, too.”
John just stayed quiet, but it looked as if he was choking on the words he wanted to say to me at that moment. I then answered his question, “I am obsessed with cars because...that's the only thing that kept me going, the only thing that gave me purpose in my life, the only thing that fueled my heart to continue to burn with passion, and the only thing that strayed my attention away from my lost love.” John looked more sympathetic than angry. His tense facial expression was more at ease, and his clenched fists were now opened. John finally found his voice to ask, “Can I hear your story?...” I said, “have a seat, this will be one long story...”