1 GIG(1)

Sitting down alone in my apartment waiting for the clock to hit 3. That's the usual time my mom call's me and never fails to do so. My phone buzzes.

"Mack! You got more handsome!" I roll my eyes and laugh at her comment.

"Hi, mom. How was your day?" I ask.

"I had the best day at work and there is a new manager, she's quite the looker too." I sneer. I hear noises in the back ground. Another woman yelling 'hey.'

"Mom. I don't want to know about that." The woman on the other end laughs shyly. This woman was my world, the man who married her is a deadbeat dad and doesn't deserve to be loved by my mother. Despite everything, she still loves him, but now she has a wife, who loves her.

"Mom, I got an interview for a job." The woman gasps.

"Really! Where, when?" She asked excitedly. I laugh at her energy.

"Tonight at midnight at a bar called Midnight Muse."

"That late? Honey won't that affect your other job?" I sigh.

"Yeah, about that... I got fired." I pinch the bridge of my nose as I feel relieved that I'm not in Canada, right now. I was born and raised in Toronto, it's in Ontario, Canada. Yeah, that's right I'm Canadian. Currently, I live in a small apartment in the city of Los Angeles.

The woman sighs. "What happened?"

"The manager, bullied one of the new co-workers and I punched him, I was overwhelmed and wasn't thinking, sorry. It won't happen again."

"It's not me who you should apologize to, it's yourself, you know if you can't afford the apartment you have to come back to Canada." I sighed and used the same excuse I use every time I don't want to talk about something.

"I'm tired, I love you. Talk to you tomorrow." I say hanging up the phone. I hit my head against the table.

"Ow, I hit it harder than I wanted." I rub my head and look at my cat. He's all black and had a pair of emerald green eyes.

I found fish-sticks by a river in a box bleeding, I brought her to a clinic to help him. She came out fine, but for some reason, he doesn't like me. I go to pet her and he hisses. You'd think helping an animal would make them like you.

"Fish-sticks, come here." I know he won't come but I try anyway. He hisses and paws at my hand.

"You little shit." I look at his food bowl and see it's empty. I fill it up and pour water into the second bowl. "Here you go fish-sticks you must be hungry." I put them on the ground and the cat jumped down from the table and started to eat the food. I contemplated petting him but I change my mind. Furthermore, I wasn't in the mood to get my face scarred with claw marks.

"I'm going to play a little, too pass time." I pick up my guitar and tune it. I put a capo on the second fret and start strumming. I play the classic acoustic guitar, I pick the strings with my fingers rather than a guitar pick. This guitar is the only thing my father gave to me, it used to be his, and he gave it to me, I was 6 and that's when I got into art.

Strumming the melody lightly with my fingers, the sound fills the empty apartment, and listening to the simple notes makes me feel at ease. The cat walked over to me and laid down on a pillow that was beside me. I continue to play the song and slowly hum to it after a while the words just come out. Flowing with the beat of the music. The cat starts to purr, I stop playing and go to pet him, he hisses and scratches at my arm.

"Ow, fish-sticks why do you only like me when I sing?" He meows, and I imagine he responded with something harsh.

I continue to pluck at the strings, I take out a notebook and write down some lyrics. As a songwriter, I'm always looking for some inspiration. This is what I usually do all day unless I'm working part-time somewhere. The lyrics flow out of me when I'm really in the mood, but right now I'm stuck.

"I'll just read something on web novel then go for a nap," I said talking to myself. I lay down on the couch and take out my phone. While reading my favorite story, I fall asleep. I wake up to the 11:00 alarm on my phone, when I look at the time it's 11:30. I get up immediately and run to my closet.

Turning on the light I grab a dress shirt and quickly button it up. I wear one of my many pairs of black jeans. I look for a pair that has the least amount of rips, and finally settled on one that only rips on one knee. I grab my jacket, it was November and was a little chilly. It doesn't snow much in California, but I've always been prone to colds. I spray some cologne and give fish-sticks a treat. On the way out I halt when I open the door, my neighbor was standing there in a pretty dress.

"Melody? Why are you standing in front of my door?" She stiffens and blushes.

"I wanted to ask you if you wanted to grab a coffee with me sometime?" I look at her and she seems confident. But a strong feeling clouded my mind. It was excitement and anxiety, my stomach was fluttery and my palms got sweaty. But it wasn't me, more like a reflection. Melody was nervous and I could feel it.

"I'd like that Melody, talk to you later, I'm in a rush." I shut and lock the door behind me, I start to jog to the elevator. I go to it and see a piece of paper saying 'Out of Order.' I cursed this damn building and myself for living on the top floor. I start to run down the stairs. Passing multiple people on the way. I pushed a couple into each other on accident, the man flips me the bird and I give it back, with a grimace.

My temper hasn't always been the best, rude and disrespectful people get me angry to the point my filter breaks and I say or do whatever comes to mind. I have to fix my filter several times a day when I work.

I finally leave the building, and it's 11: 47. I pick up the pace and run at full speed. In Los Angeles, at night the streets are still full, I pass several people pushing them out of the way and apologizing immediately after.

I was in a rush, because I didn't want to be late for work but secondly, I didn't want my glass foundation to break.

The air gets thinner the longer I stay in a crowd full of emotions. My glass gets cold and starts to crack, all I am is a wine glass full of expensive red wine. As I get closer to my destination the more the glass cracks and more wine drips out. The overwhelming feeling of emotions clouding my mind and thoughts slowing my body and chipping my glass. And it won't stop until I make it or my glass shatters.