|
|
Post by tajvar fereydun on Dec 29, 2012 0:04:48 GMT -5
There was a lot to do, tonight. The past few hours had been spent making room for new tenants in his apartment, another two spent on researching a topic for tomorrow's discussion. That wasn't all. Tajvar always had a lot to do; his phone was usually littered with notes and plans.
Most of his life was spent living for others, and rarely for himself. There wasn't a moment where he did something he wanted to do, even though his mind was telling his heart numerous times he was doing these out of own willingness. And that was how Tajvar plodded on, day after day, thinking for others and acting for the sake of other people like family, friends and acquaintances.
He reclined in his seat, his fingers brushing against the pen laying across his textbook. The book had been open on page one-hundred-and-sixty-two since half an hour ago; he must have spaced out. A quick glance at the clock brought Tajvar to his feet.
More than half an hour later, he would arrive at East Village to give his brother a hand at whatever he was doing. Probably clean-up, what else was there to do?
|
|
|
|
Post by Ali Fereydun on Dec 29, 2012 10:54:23 GMT -5
The crowd tonight was piss poor. His drummer always blamed bad attendance on the recession in jest, but Ali didn’t even know anymore. Luckily, the blame wasn’t on Ali’s Crying Onions as they were just opening for a thought-to-be popular band. In the long run, tonight’s attendance didn’t matter much. They were paid upfront and got their name out there. Power pop had a tendency to get peeps off their feet. His bandmates braced themselves for a celebratory cess session in his bassist’s studio apartment. For some reason, the Fereydun middle child hadn’t a bit of interest. He was tired and needed to go home.
He checked his phone at the gig’s makeshift bar. No activity on any of the six zillion social networks he subscribed to. His focus was actually towards the handy-dandy messaging app. Nothing there either. Two keyboards and two guitars weren’t something you just trekked about late night NYC with. That’s a quick way to get jumped or, in Ali’s good-looking case, felt up by some fiend. He needed someone to lug his shit around with. Reliability wasn’t a common trait in this town so he resorted to blood. Babysitting a beer (you think they card up in hur?), he figured he’d just do his brother a solid later.
bro. dearest, where you at?
ly, little bro.
x:xx @ xx/xx/xx
Just as he sent that text, a studio recording of his opening song came on the sketchy scene’s radiofrequencies. It got him rather hype. “Salud! He shouted like a little madman before downing the rest of his drink.
[location: some makeshift club, status: buzzed]
|
|
