green tea and frustration ,, rachel Aug 29, 2011 16:21:04 GMT -5
Post by DAVID 'ZEPPELIN' MATTHEWS on Aug 29, 2011 16:21:04 GMT -5
Zeppelin was sitting at a table on his own in the café. He was sipping green tea and furiously scribbling down lyrics that had been bouncing around in his head for days and days. He couldn’t quite grasp what it was he was trying to say but he’d written the tune for this song over a month ago and it was getting ridiculous that he hadn’t managed to write any lyrics for it. “Maybe it’s supposed to be an instrumental.” He whispered to himself under his breath which inspired a rather alarmed look from the woman at the table next to him. He raised his hand as a sort of half wave which only seemed to offend her more. He heard her mutter something like, “Lousy beatnik” and realised that his long hair was working against him yet again. He sighed slightly and swirled his teabag around the cup.
It had been a couple of weeks since Zeppelin had written anything good, a month since he’d written anything excellent. He was beginning to panic. He had begun wearing a lot of blue in hopes that it would boost his expression Chakra but it just led to him being more talkative towards other people and hadn’t really helped his writing in any way. He pulled down the front of his blue t-shirt and shrugged off his blue plaid shirt as he was beginning to feel a little too warm. He sat back in his chair and studied the page of scored out writing hoping he’d missed something good. He hadn’t.
Sometimes he wondered why he’d left home. In Northern Ireland he’d been consistently surrounded with inspirational musicians who had helped him with his music. Zepp had left Northern Ireland five weeks ago on a tourist visa to the country and no real plan as to how he was going to get to the USA. He only had a week before he had to renew his tourist visa and work out how he was going to become a permanent resident of the United States without having to marry someone. He supposed that America would bring him his big break, but it was doing nothing of the sort. He was entirely unknown in Canada, at least back home he had a consistent string of work.
Zeppelin lifted his phone and decided to text his best friend Rachel: “I miss you girl. PLE Z X” Zeppelin always signed his messages PLE Z which meant: Peace, Love, Empathy, Zeppelin. He had done since he first read Kurt Cobain’s suicide note when he was twelve years old and decided echoing it made him cool and mysterious. Zeppelin drained the end of his tea, got to his feet and ordered another one, shelling out five dollars for the honour of a teabag and a cup of boiling water and then returning to his seat.
word count four hundred and sixty five
ooc less rambly and long that the original post I wrote for you lolol!