T
tart.
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The Wanderer
The sunlight split through the cracks of the blinds in uneven strips, skittering against the bed in which a young man was sleeping in soundly. He was exhausted from the late night show his band and him decided to do the night before, and a big party was afterwards so things just... blurred together. He'd gotten home around 4 in the morning and collapsed in his bed, in which is where he laid now. Really, home was just a rundown little apartment he shared with one of his bandmates, but things weren't necessarily working out between the two of them living together. So Logan suspected he'd be kicked out in a matter of days. It wasn't that big of a deal to him, due to how he was used to such circumstances, and was sure he'd find some other place to stay at till he could afford something of his own.
Logan opened one eye to take a peek around the messy room, and let out a long sigh as he could feel a sharp headache coming in. He winced as a ray of sunlight hit him directly in his line of vision, and exasperatedly sat up and flung the covers off his body. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he contemplated actually getting up and starting the day. He could easily just call in sick and call it a day, and if anyone were to tell him otherwise just raise hell. But, of course, he remembered an important practice/recording session he had scheduled at a studio later on today. Logan ran a hand over his face and stood up, the bed squeaking in protest from the loss of his body weight, and he shuffled out of the room with a towel in hand. After a quick shower and other regular hygiene rituals, he pulled on something a bit more formal then his usual attire for the occasion. He sent a quick text to the rest of his bandmates informing them of the schedule once more before grabbing his guitar case and stepping out the door.
It was a beautiful sunny day with a light breeze, the sky matching Logan's baby blue eyes. He walked with a bit of a pep in his step, considering his day was starting out nice besides the nasty headache and killer hangover. But, of course, he was used to these things as well. He plugged some earphones into his ears and turned the volume up, getting lost into the world of music he often wandered off to when facing walls of stress. Music to Logan was like the other drugs he found himself going back to; It made him feel better, in control, and free. It was something he relied on and took pride in making it, and it was one of the few things that genuinely made him happy. Taking a glance at his phone, he read the time as 1:00 PM, and had about 30 minutes to get to the studio before they were scheduled to start at 1:35. And so, Logan's day started.
Logan opened one eye to take a peek around the messy room, and let out a long sigh as he could feel a sharp headache coming in. He winced as a ray of sunlight hit him directly in his line of vision, and exasperatedly sat up and flung the covers off his body. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he contemplated actually getting up and starting the day. He could easily just call in sick and call it a day, and if anyone were to tell him otherwise just raise hell. But, of course, he remembered an important practice/recording session he had scheduled at a studio later on today. Logan ran a hand over his face and stood up, the bed squeaking in protest from the loss of his body weight, and he shuffled out of the room with a towel in hand. After a quick shower and other regular hygiene rituals, he pulled on something a bit more formal then his usual attire for the occasion. He sent a quick text to the rest of his bandmates informing them of the schedule once more before grabbing his guitar case and stepping out the door.
It was a beautiful sunny day with a light breeze, the sky matching Logan's baby blue eyes. He walked with a bit of a pep in his step, considering his day was starting out nice besides the nasty headache and killer hangover. But, of course, he was used to these things as well. He plugged some earphones into his ears and turned the volume up, getting lost into the world of music he often wandered off to when facing walls of stress. Music to Logan was like the other drugs he found himself going back to; It made him feel better, in control, and free. It was something he relied on and took pride in making it, and it was one of the few things that genuinely made him happy. Taking a glance at his phone, he read the time as 1:00 PM, and had about 30 minutes to get to the studio before they were scheduled to start at 1:35. And so, Logan's day started.
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