Post by Lurr'n ♥ on Jan 11, 2007 0:39:53 GMT -5
Name: Sam Fletcher
Age: 22
Height: 5'11"
Hair color: Dirty blonde
Eye color: Green
Social class: Lower middle class
Occupation: Starving artist
Hometown: Redlands
Introduction:
"...and she's buying the stairway... to heaven."
The young man looked up from his acoustic guitar, cued by a small applause from the crowd that gathered around him. He smiled at them and uttered several thanks as people threw spare bills into the open case lying at his feet. After the spectators had dispersed and gone their seperate ways, he took a glance at the booty: there must've been close to fifty bucks in there, and he'd only been out playing for a little over an hour and a half.
That's like, twenty bucks an hour. Which is more than a lot of people make. Too bad he couldn't play for hours and hours on end, or else he might make playing guitar in the park his job. He might even do the unthinkable if he played that much, though: he might even get sick of playing Led Zepplin.
Sure, they were from America, but LI and the States were close in their ties... after all, didn't the States run the Isles for a few decades before World War I? Back when they were doing their empirical thing? Well, whatever. The Isles are a seperate country now. A seperate country with no world-famous musicians, but a seperate country nonetheless.
Sam comtinued playing his music in the park until he could barely see the case at his feet, at which point he packed up and started the walk home. It would be a clear, crisp night, and the gentle-featured 22 year old young man could already see his breath when he exhaled. His navy peacoat (god knows how old the thing was), coupled with his moth-eaten scarf, would keep him warm enough.
The subway ride was uneventful, if not relaxing. After the 20 minute ride he exited it at 12th street in Essex West. The fresh air kissed his cheeks as he stepped up the stairs from the tunnels, the noise of traffic greeting his ears with all the sharp hisses of breaks, and the honking of taxi cabs. He j-walked across the street and strode into the corner store there to pick up a can of HAZIRD, an enery drink. He threw a bill and some change at the foriegn shopkeeper before walking out to the street corner again. Sam snapped open his drink and took a nice big gulp before picking up his guitart case and heading west on Hughes Ave.
Age: 22
Height: 5'11"
Hair color: Dirty blonde
Eye color: Green
Social class: Lower middle class
Occupation: Starving artist
Hometown: Redlands
Introduction:
"...and she's buying the stairway... to heaven."
The young man looked up from his acoustic guitar, cued by a small applause from the crowd that gathered around him. He smiled at them and uttered several thanks as people threw spare bills into the open case lying at his feet. After the spectators had dispersed and gone their seperate ways, he took a glance at the booty: there must've been close to fifty bucks in there, and he'd only been out playing for a little over an hour and a half.
That's like, twenty bucks an hour. Which is more than a lot of people make. Too bad he couldn't play for hours and hours on end, or else he might make playing guitar in the park his job. He might even do the unthinkable if he played that much, though: he might even get sick of playing Led Zepplin.
Sure, they were from America, but LI and the States were close in their ties... after all, didn't the States run the Isles for a few decades before World War I? Back when they were doing their empirical thing? Well, whatever. The Isles are a seperate country now. A seperate country with no world-famous musicians, but a seperate country nonetheless.
Sam comtinued playing his music in the park until he could barely see the case at his feet, at which point he packed up and started the walk home. It would be a clear, crisp night, and the gentle-featured 22 year old young man could already see his breath when he exhaled. His navy peacoat (god knows how old the thing was), coupled with his moth-eaten scarf, would keep him warm enough.
The subway ride was uneventful, if not relaxing. After the 20 minute ride he exited it at 12th street in Essex West. The fresh air kissed his cheeks as he stepped up the stairs from the tunnels, the noise of traffic greeting his ears with all the sharp hisses of breaks, and the honking of taxi cabs. He j-walked across the street and strode into the corner store there to pick up a can of HAZIRD, an enery drink. He threw a bill and some change at the foriegn shopkeeper before walking out to the street corner again. Sam snapped open his drink and took a nice big gulp before picking up his guitart case and heading west on Hughes Ave.