From 'The Ridge Farm Summer:

"Mary, how did you meet Freddie?"... She looked over at Freddie as he had his arm around her.

 "He came to my booth in the Kensington street market. I sold him a fabulous pair of pants!" Mary shared happily.

"How are your parents handlin' your brother's car accident?" a young woman asked as she worked on folding a pile of shirts before her.

 "They were pretty shaken up at first, but he's okay and they've been with him since it happened." Another woman answered her, pulling a box from underneath a table. It was a rather warm Friday afternoon in in the Kensington Market, the breeze catching the canopy over the sales table occasionally.

 "I'm glad he's okay.  I'm sorry I couldn't come visit when the accident happened." She said to the woman behind her.

 "Please don't worry. It's perfectly okay. Believe me, I'm just quite happy to be back selling with you." the other woman said. There were piles and piles of clothes laid out before the two women, as they had boxed themselves in with four folding tables. They had a sea of colorful scarves, gloves, hats, a few pair of shoes, socks and other miscellaneous items. The tables were nearly too full of things but when the inventory was available, it was time to move it. Neither of the town noticed that they had a customer delighted by the table full of scarves and other accessories.

 "Oh! Oh, hello there. Please let me know if I can help you find something." She said to the customer who looked up and gave her an enormous grin.

 "I don't think I need any help! Fetching, yes?" the customer asked slinging a frilly, lacey scarf around. The woman couldn't help but snicker.

 "Well, it's...I...I fear it may be a bit frilly for your taste?" she questioned. The customer laughed at her.

 "Frilly is my taste! Watch this!" The customer wrapped the gaudy scarf around their neck, putting hands on hips. "I'm simply ravishing!" The woman snickered again.

 "Um...yes...yes that's quite...fanciful." She answered, the two of them staring at one another momentarily. "So...do...you want it?" she asked hesitantly, always fearing she would inadvertently pressure a customer.

 "Oh but of course! This is precisely what I need for my show tonight!" the customer said.

 "I'm sorry? You're show?" she asked.

 "Yes. I'm in a band and I love to look fabulous." There was another pause at this information. "I'm Freddie Bulsara...or you can call me Freddie Mercury!" he said, flashing a toothy smile at her.

 "My name's Mary.  Oh, Mary Austin. It's nice to meet you, Freddie." She gave him a soft smile and extended her hand to him. His smile trumped hers and was of course embellished by this ridiculous scarf. "Um...why would I call you Freddie Mercury if your name is Freddie Bulsara?"

 "It's something I'm trying on. You know....like a sweater or...a fancy hat. I think the name is quite marvelous don't you?" he asked of her. She gave him another smile and continued to fold clothes around the tables.

 "Do you work here?" he asked, browsing her wares.

 "Yes. I attend the college but I need to supplement my income somehow. Brenda here and I have had these tables for a few months. I mean, it's not much but it certainly pays for the small things." She said.

 "I have a table here too! 7C is my spot." Freddie explained to her and pointing several rows back. 4B....you must be quite the seller to have landed this spot." He said, holding up a turtleneck before him. Mary laughed.

 "Not me. It's all Brenda. She's had the spot lots longer than I. Like I said, we've sold for a few months but she's had the spot for nearly a year." Mary explained. "What do you sell...at your table I mean?"

 "Oh you know....clothes...from around." Freddie said.

 "7C?" Brenda finally said, raising her head from under the back table. "Aren't you the bloke who got into a row that friend of yours because you tried to sell his purple jacket? I can't believe anyone would fancy to buy that horrible thing." Brenda mumbled and snickered at the last portion of her words.

 "What!?" Freddie, asked, his hands on his hips once again and yet another scarf flung over his shoulder. "I...no! No! I've never....sold my...friends' clothes....before!" He said, clearly lying to her. "Now, I may have once sold some stupid thing that belonged to..." He huffed. "FINE! FINE! But it's only because he has all these stupid boxy-looking sweater coats and...things! My god, it's not like anyone can wear his pansy-like crap!" Freddie said, confessing that he "might" have sold something that wasn't his once...or twice.  Both Mary and her friend chuckled at their newfound visitor. "I'll take both the scarves, and this turtleneck." Freddie gasped. "Oh my god! I simply must have these trousers! Black satin! Oh I do hope they fit!" he exclaimed, holding a pair of black satin pants before him.

 "Oh god! Don't try them on here!" Brenda exclaimed from behind. Mary laughed.

 "Say, Mary? For selling me such fine clothes. How about I repay you by taking you to my most favorite antique store Saturday?" he boldly asked. Mary found herself rather flattered by his brazen gesture. She couldn't find it in herself to say know to this sweet, and slightly quirky Freddie Bulsara.

On the West side of London, the rent was cheap and flats were hard to come by. It wasn't the desired place to live but it was a place to live. Roger was spread over the couch with a magazine in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The turntable was barely above a hum in the background. There was a knock on the door, interrupting the pleasant, late morning. He slowly squirmed around, wandering who it could be this early in the day. There was another knock as Roger crossed the floor to the door, opening it with a squeak. He was rather surprised to see his landlord. "Hi...Mr. Caldwell." He said, taking a drag on his cigarette.

 "You're rent's late...again." He said, crossing his arms before him.

 "I told you last week I'd have rent for you first thing on Saturday. I get paid Friday night." He said. His landlord sighed. 

 "You were two weeks late on rent and water last month. The phone company rang. They're gonna' turn your line off this month if you can't pay the balance in full that you owe them." He said matter of factly. Roger rolled his eyes, rather discouraged by the landlord.

 "Look, I'm paid in full on electric and water this month. I'll have rent to you Saturday, I swear it. I get paid Friday." He said slapping his hand in rhythm with his words. "I can pay the phone balance in full. I'll give them a cash payment Saturday too. You can evict me this weekend if I don't keep my word." Roger promised him. Though he had been consistently late on his various bills the past few months, he always kept his word regarding when he would have the money. 

 "I could evict you whenever I want. I got another noise complaint last night." The landlord said. 

 "I was up front when I moved in here. I'm in a band and I play drums. I like to work on my parts here. I have to be ready when there's a show." He explained.

 "That's not the kind of noise complaint I received." The landlord eyed him, looking perturbed. and Roger snickered at him. 

 "Sorry, I'm sorry. I don't mean to laugh it's just..." His landlord cut him off.

 "I have families in my building. They frequently mention seein' you with a different woman on many occasions, let alone hearing whoever you drag in here. I can't have you disruptin' the peace! I've had some of these tenants for years!  You don't typically give me no trouble but I can't risk their personal safety. My building, unlike your flat, does not have a revolving door." Roger knew he needed to quickly wipe the stupid smile from this face. 

 "I said I was sorry. And by the way, I've never said nothin' about the family with twins down there in 4B who can't seem to get them to stop screamin!" He laughed inappropriately. "My guests only scream for a bit, you know." Roger was quite pleased with himself.

 "I'm serious, Taylor. I better see your rent this weekend. I'm kickin' you out of here if you can't get your act together and clean things up." The landlord threatened. 

 "I am clean. Come have a look in here if you think I'm not." Roger offered him his modest, but clean flat. The landlord sighed.

 "Keep your noise down and be less obvious with your women. I don't condone that kinda' thing. And something else, it's offensive to families when you come on here drunk on the weekends and wreakin' of vodka and god knows what else. I'm givin' you one month to turn it around." The landlord said before walking away. Roger watched the landlord walk down the hallway. He took another drag on his cigarette and stepped into the hall. "Hey, Mr. Caldwell? You should come hear my band sometime! I think you'd let me rent slide." Roger took another drag on his cigarette as his landlord didn't reply.

 He closed the door and stared around at his spacious, two room flat. He didn't want to admit it but on some level, the landlord was right.  He was embarrassed that his bills were late. But he always managed to get them paid. He was also embarrassed at the way his neighbors always looked uncomfortable around him at the mail room.  The mums in the building warned their sons to never come home with such sissy hair or tight trousers when they were around Roger downstairs. No one seemed to care about the smoke however, as Roger seemed to always be handing out cigarettes. He sighed, feeling rather down by his confrontation. He never intended to piss off Mr. Caldwell but yet he always seemed to do so. He looked up at his kit assembled toward the back of his flat. He was using the biology book and chemistry book he was supposed to be studying to prop up one side of the bass drum where the feet had broken off.

 As Roger examined his modest flat, the cracks in the ceiling, the wood floor that needed refinishing and the broken hinge on one of the windows that needed replaced. He puffed on his cigarette again and opened up the refrigerator. There were no leftovers from the night before to be had. He didn't have enough money to order in. There were two eggs left. Two. He cringed because he knew that's what today's lunch...and dinner would be.  Roger was scrawny as it was. He couldn't afford not to eat and the problem was that he could barely afford groceries for the week. This was the part where he was thankful for the cigarettes to curb his appetite. The only reason his flat was a revolving door was his pretty face...it certainly wasn't his fat pockets.