Chapter 1: A Day in ScootTown
Life was hard. Waking up was hard. Listening to idiots everyday was hard. I thought that my single little career of being a classical musician in a popular town called “ScootTown”, was going to be easy. Too bad the mayor’s son took the money his father gave him in his will and used on getting maids( which he seduces),making parties and destroying the classical music house to build.....a stupid mall where they sell ‘YOLO’ shirts and ‘SWAG’ shirts. Now, ever since I abandoned my life to get a better job with more money at this classical music house to got destroyed and is now is able to be run by idiots, I regret every minute of it. I wish I could go back home. To Canterlot. To Ponyville. Anywhere that isn’t this steaming pile of cow dung called “ScootTown”. I’m telling you this story through what I think of in my mind and not what other people think of it.
6:35 a.m.
I woke up feeling like I could do nothing. I look at the electronic clock that on my pile of ripped coats made from cloth, that was considered to be a great five-star restaurant for the moths that slipped through the broken ventilation system. I put on my pajamas and walked outside. Warm. But not a satisfactory-kind-of-warm, but a desert kind of warm. Dry.
The market down the street doesn't have much good things anymore. All it sells is Hot-Hoof-Ready Noodles and spoiled milk.I grabbed a pack of those noodles and walked around a bit. The park has the debris of a dumpster on the street. Littered with drunken teenagers,dog droppings and beer cans. The bench is comfortable and nice. It is the only place I can stay and to keep my sanity. I sat down on the cold bench. I took out my HoofPod and listen to my favorite music......classical,of course. I sat down and listened. It was sunrise when I sat down, it was sunset when I ran out of battery on my device. I had sat and waited for somepony to come along and say how my day was or how I was. A stallion with a sideways baseball cap came up to me. He was doing something weird and doing a dance. I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned towards me. “Yes?” I spoke with a mannered tone. “What are you listening too, Sir?” “Dubstep. What do you hate about it!?” I was shocked by his tone. “I didn’t say anything Sir” “I bet you hate it, don’t you?” “I was just....” “GO TO HELL!” Then he turned and ran away fist-bumping his ‘amigos’. I didn’t care. Tomorrow was a work day at my job McLettuce(I have to make money somehow). What a stupid name for a fast-food restaurant.I marched all the way home and laid down on my mattress.
5:00 a.m.
Uhhhh... my head hurts. Work hurts my head. Screaming fillies and complaining idiots at the counter all day. What joy. Yippee.
It was a march of darkness and thought.
Deep,deep,dark thoughts about our generation
