I've always had an eye for detail.
That's how I found this place. My own little alcove hidden among the rocks. When I'm here it's just me and the ocean. The spray alights upon my face as softly as the caress of a warm blanket. Now that the sun has fallen the occasional insect skitters across the rocks, my only companions in this secluded reprieve. My eyes become unfocused as I look at the dark water. I stare out at the formless, sloshing void, and it stares back into me.
Look at me, trying to be poetic. I've never been a writer, despite my many failed attempts. I've never been a composer, as my guitar that I play poorly gathers dust in a corner. I've never been a painter, the shapes and curves of the human form eluding me on paper.
You might say the arts escape me just as much as my fellow man. I come here because it's the only place I feel content with my lonesomeness. With the sound of the sea washing around me, I feel like it's okay that I'm alone. It's okay that I have no future.
I feel like I'm going to be all right.
Alas, I cannot remain in my solace forever. I carefully pick my way through the crumbling rocks up the barren cliff-face. I find myself in the park. The dew rests on the grass, weighing down the soft leaves. Large, green trees stipple the open field, surrounded by a road which navigates the circumference of the grass. The bright moon gazes down upon the whole affair, unmoved by the scene.
Silence. Pure, beautiful silence.
It won't last long. The moon has already begun to fall from the sky, completing it's slow, consistent arc. Yet, I can still enjoy it for now.
I shiver.
Okay, that's enough enjoyment for tonight.
My soft footfalls break the quiet. My shoes scrape along the ground. They pick up dewdrops in their wake, dampening my feet. Why does it have to be so cold out? Better yet, why didn't I bring a sweater?
Despite my lack of warm clothing, I manage to survive my trek to my car, which sits lamely parked against the curb. I unlock the passenger door, lean inside the tiny two-door, and unlock the driver's door from the inside.
I really need to get that lock fixed.
Unlocking process completed, I close the passenger door, walk around the car, and finally sit behind the wheel. She doesn't start on the first turn of the key, but with a little persistence she roars to life. The radio lights up, and starts playing the CD inside. The only CD in this car.
Yeah I own this beat
You can call me the king or the ruler
Felon on bass, getting hoarse at the mic
We're getting 20 percent cooler
This song, I know this song. 20 Percent Cooler, by Ken Ashcorp. Of course I do, I'm the one that mixed this CD. I took all my favourite songs bronies have made and put them all together. They keep me company when I'm most alone: in public. No matter how alone I feel inside, I can pretend I'm surrounded by all the people who made these songs. All my bronies.
I put this song at the beginning of the tracks, because it's my favourite. I don't know why it is, it probably shouldn't be. It's a party song, and I'm not a party type of guy. Despite that, the song makes me want to move. It makes me feel alive. It-
“Hey, is that 20 Percent Cooler?”
