Piece I: Exposition (Vinly's P.O.V.)
The reverberation of the beats spread throughout the ground. Their vibrations shaking the very foundations that the club was built on. Through the beats, the lights of the dance-floor flashed in spasmodic fashion, the array of colours illuminating the dimly-lit building. And communicating through the dance-floor lights, were the equally spasmodic crowd that the music entrapped.
Their limbs waved in no real fashion, but yet swayed with emotion. The patrons danced there, waving away whatever stress that they encountered before entering the club. Stress, anger, sadness, or even the occasional drug-induced high would blend into a stream of negative energy, only to be washed away by the bass.
And at the front of it all, was me. Their queen, their leader, their friend, their lover, but most importantly, their DJ. I sat at the helm, allowing my turntable to deliver the experience that the patrons paid, or muscled, for. Tonight, though, it was much different.
It was a full ass house.
Normally my usual crowd was maybe, MAYBE, 100 or so people, with enough room to move and dance freely. But tonight, the staff was reporting something around 300 working-class people, drug addicts, prostitutes, and whatever bum managed to slip around the soft bouncer.
For an up-and-coming DJ like me, 300 people was fucking awesome! I had a pretty basic track list planned for tonight, but for my largest crowd ever, I mixed it up a little. I picked the heaviest, loudest, and the dirtiest tracks in my arsenal.
The current song wouldn't pause for my rejoice. It kept playing, allowing the clubbers to feed off of the energy.
The verse rolled over the heads of the crowd, pumping them up. The beat of the snare, and the hits of the bass increased in tempo as the climax grew closer to it's entry. The tempo quickened and quickened, until....it stopped.
The snare and the bass abruptly halted, only letting the undertones of the synthesiser to be heard. I raised one of my arms in the air, and curled my fingers into a fist. The obedient crowd copied me, holding their own respective fists for me to see.
During the time in the air, the missing bass and snare returned, hitting whenever it wanted, for it had a mind of its own. Every time they decided to hit, I pumped my fist into the air. And sure enough, the crowd did the same. The line began to hasten, and the hits began to blend together. The ocean of fists began to blur as the continued to pump to the drum hits.
I could feel it through my entire body. The bass drop was close. Goosebumps erupted across my skin as the euphoria spread.
Here....it....comes!
The bass crashed in a way that a wave would. It had that critical build-up, revealing its inevitability. And just like an ocean wave would, it crashed. Its torrential force washed over the crowd, filing in between every patron, and even leaking out to the people outside.
The metaphorical water continued to flow, cleansing more and more with every beat of the bass. The vibrations amplified, and the patrons only looked dumber while dancing. I let my head fall back, and slacked my jaw. I'm sure to any on-looker, I looked as dumb as the dancers, but I pushed the thought aside. I was just enjoying myself!
As the song reached its conclusion, the whole club seemed to enter a stasis. The dancing ceased, the booze flowed freely, the roofies dropped, and my body released all of its sweat. It was almost frightening to watch an entire organism of sorts slowly die down, especially knowing that it was thriving with life a minute ago.
And with the dying of one organism, came the birth of another. Like any profession, my job took a toll on my body. I hadn't eaten all day, and the craving for the burning of alcohol began to increase with my constant hunger.
Oh come on Vinyl, it's just one drink., my inner alcoholic pleaded, What's the worst that could happen?
I weighed the options while I awaited the proverbial angel to appear on my shoulder to give the moral advice.
Right as I began my journey to the glass counter, she decided to arrive.
What could go wrong? Well for one, you just watched those sex drugs be distributed like the cold. We wouldn't want to awake in some dude's bed AGAIN, now would we.
I shrugged at her advice. I'd hate to be raped, especially by another guy, but I'm sure I hooked the occasional chick now and then. I was pretty open at the fact that guys have a "Do Not Enter" vibe coming from me. Most of the time they got the message loud and clear. Most of the time. I can pick and choose 'em when I see 'em. Not all guys were out to rape me.
And what if you get drunk and blow this show? It's your biggest crowd in years. You wouldn't want to ruin it for them, right?
That was a valid point. If I busted here, in front of all of these people, I'd be the laughing-stock of the DJ world. That bastard McW1sh would never let me live it down.
"Oh there's no way I'm letting that self-concerned, mediocre, prick beat me!" I exclaimed to the voices in my head.
It wasn't until I saw the side-ways glances and the soft murmuring of lips that I realized that I just shouted at two non-existent girls in front of a crowd of people.
I felt the blood burn blush on my face, and I made the swift decision on getting water from the bar. I swerved through the throng of clubbers, and scurried over to the bar.
The counter was run by some scrawny kid with curly hair. He looked no older than sixteen, and certainly didn't belong in a drug-ridden, whore-breeding, kick-ass place like this. He had a sullen, bored look on his face, as he delivered the orders to the sweaty bar-goers.
After a few delivered Long Islands, and one verbal confrontation with a drunk fellow, he took notice of me.
"Sup DJ, what'll ya' have?" he said, his mood perking up a bit.
"Got water kid?" I asked. He nodded, and went under the counter to what I assume was a mini-fridge. He handed my the bottle with a small smirk.
"At least you have some sense," he said, sarcasm hitching a ride on his tone.
I uncapped the bottle, and took a long sip from the plastic container. I popped my lips off of the rim, and shot him a quizzical look.
"How do ya' figure?" I asked in return.
"Well we have all these guys here ordering booze in every combination possible, but they don't get how alcohol works," he replied, averting his gaze to the crowd.
"Tell me then."
"Well, the body has to filter the extra chemicals outta your blood, so your kidneys produce much more piss than usual. You go use the restroom, piss away your body's water, and eventually you get dehydrated. That's why we carry water, so fools don't pass out on our watch."
My mind pieced together a mental image of the horror story he was telling. I saw myself, drunk as a skunk, laughing my ass off. I staggered a little, but managed to regain my balance. It wasn't enough, I fell, and nobody even thought of getting help.
"Tartarus of a way to ruin a night.," I said to him with a cringe.
"Yep. In my short time as a bartender, I've seen it too many times," he said with a sad look on his face, "But now that I've scared you shitless, I might as well complement you."
I laughed at his remark.
"Oh please, don't hold back," I joked.
"You've gotta be the most souled DJ as of yet. I know you've got this whole thing going with that McW1sh guy, but I think you're better," he said with an actual smile.
"Aw, thanks guy. That means a lot to me," I replied.
No body dared to compare me to McW1sh, I guess they were too scared, but when they did, they picked him.
"Ah, it's nothing. Go. Give these drunk fools a show."
I chugged the rest of the bottle of water, and returned to my turntable. They had set up a mic for me, and I tapped it a few times to see if the thing even worked.
The annoying thumps of the tests got the crowd's attention, and they all turned to face me.
"Alright you animals! Pon-3's back!" I shouted over the speakers.
The club blew up into applause and cheers, boosting my excitement.
"Yeah! That's what I like to hear! Not like that McW1sh asshat, am I right?"
The club booed and hissed at his name. I had an immensely loyal fan base, so moments like this made me feel like the queen I was.
"Let's spin this shit!"
And with that one last outburst, the cycle started all over again. The verse, the bass, the dancing, the drugs, and the ecstasy. Sometimes, I wish these moments never ended.
I somehow managed to push through the crowd of people clustered at the door. My time slot had expired, and most of the crowd had already consumed their humanly possibly quantity alcohol for the day, or year.
It was a true miracle that the two sets of doors could handle such an expulsion of bodies. They were made for letting people in one or two at a time, not hundreds a second. I was stuck in the middle of the human herd, surrounded on all sides.
Thank Celestia I didn't have to carry my own equipment out. If I had to, well, I may not even be here stuck in sweat. The Canterlot Under-District was not a hospitable place. Most of Equestrian society liked to think of the Palace District when planning their trip here. Extraordinary mansions belonging to some of the most influential families in the and, expensive shops carrying only the finest wares, and of course, The Royal Palace, where our triarchy resided.
But that was for our 0.000001%, the rest of Canterlot was affordable, not stylish. Most of her residents had a minimum-wage job, or the usual crushed dream. Failed fashion designers, theater stars, or inventors were all dumped to the dismal alleys and bricks of the Under-District after they were brushed aside by the high-fashion lives.
Instead of hoity-toitey mansions, we stuck to our multiple story apartment complexes. At this point, they were held together by duct tape and bubble-gum. Windows were stained with mildew or something of that sort, cracked pavement, rotted wood, and molded carpet.
We were the usual talk of the Castle District. Those nobles had to spit on something without destroying some delicate family alliance.
"Oh look at those barbarians down there.", "Honestly, how could anyone live in such a manner?", "My daughter would never dress in such a way!" ,and the usual garbage. It was better that they stuck to their own problems than ours. They occasionally had the audacity to comment on us through their ride to Manehattan. And sometimes, they never made it. A murdered Castle Districter was a sick form of enjoyment between the alleys. The people liked to think of it as some twister state of revenge.
"Look at how the mighty fall!", was the usual reasoning, and was written in blood. The Royal Justices would get involved. And here I thought they were afraid of us. Crime was virtually legal down here; The Royal Guard had better things to do than cure an entire five miles of rampant crime. Of course, when would they have time? Mrs. Entitled and Mr. Condescending need an escort down the block, because the Princesses' protectors needed better things to do than guarding our Monarchs, right?
It made me cringe just thinking of that place. Corsets and tea, no cursing, no drinking, no talking, no sex, and no thinking. I could never imagine swapping out my shorts and tank-tops for a dress and heels, and cursing and sex were two of my most frequent activities. I'll stick to the booze and drug filled home I know best.
The dying sidewalk crunched under my feet as I walked through the deserted streets. Nobody was dumb enough to walk the streets at night with no reason, much like myself. Unless you were buying, you were dying, or at least that's what I thought. I had personally never ran into trouble, but I kept a seven-inch blade in my right pocket at all times. You never know when you luck will run dry.
"Hey baby! You looking for a good time?" a voice across the street called out.
I turned to look at the voice, and found the usual suspect. Although her fur coat rested snugly over her shoulders, she had decided to wear a red bra and a pair of shorts three sizes two small.
I could only chuckle at the poor woman. She was a prime example of the fangs of Canterlot chewing up and spitting out you everyday person. Who knows what she aspired to be? But who would care, after all, she can eat.
"Heh, not tonight sweetheart. I've got bills to pay too!" I called back.
A scowl twisted her dirt-caked face, and muttered some swear in a foreign language. She walked back into the alley where her home, or pimp, most likely was. There was a part of me that wanted to feel bad for her, but that same part died with my morals years ago.
I continued my walk back to my apartment, pushing aside any thought of pity.
My apartment door stared me down as I fished through my pockets for any sign of my room key. I had a habit of...unfortunately "Losing" it often. I had to permanently change it's hiding place after the fifth time I found some horny teenager masturbating on my bed. Not that it bothered ME any, but Ms. Crab Grass next door hated the sound of creaking bed springs and the smashing of metal headboards. Well, that and the feminine screams of a night well spent.
"Come on, come on," I muttered softly. It would be Tartatus in Equestria if any of my neighbours were roused by me. Life next door to a drug dealer any a rabid old woman was dangerous, but the rent was only like fifteen bits a month, so I could afford to be quiet in the wee hours of the night.
After my left ass pocket turned up empty, I gave up on my pro fishing trip. It was too late to get the building owner for the spare for my room, and I had my door rigged to stop break-ins through a kick at the brittle driftwood. I removed my wallet, and looked at tonight's pay. Six one hundred bit notes stared me back in the face, begging to be spent.
Okay, let's think. Motels are cheep, but rape-filled. The Guard won't let me in the Palace District without a pass, and my fake was confiscated. Limited options here Vinyl, limited options. If only I could remember where I put that damn key.
My hand went to my chin in mock sophistication as I racked my brain for possible hiding places for that little brass bastard.
After a good, well-spent thirty seconds, the location became clear.
"Oh that's right!" I exclaimed as quietly as humanly possible.
I unzipped my denim shorts, and dropped them to the floor.
"Okay Vinyl, lets do this quietly," I said in a shaky breath.
After it's constant theft, I needed a secure place to hide my key without lugging any loose bags around. I had tossed around many options, until a very drunk me decided on the safest place for it. Between my labia.
"Son of a bitch!" I let out before my digging commenced.
I slipped my hand down to my snatch, and pushed my middle finger inside, hoping to Celestia I wouldn't be too loud. As a precaution, I removed my jacket, and clenched it between my teeth. It's temporary silencing would do for now, just until I found my key.
I swished around between my lips, before I felt the rigid edge of the key. I used my finger to roll it out by it's back, and it fell to the floor. The brass surface gleamed with juices, and sweat began to roll down my flushed cheeks.
"Oooh, DAMN! Why don't I do that more often?"
I retrieved the soiled key from the floor, and unlocked the door. The wood swung open with a loud creek, and I slammed it shut. I tossed the key into my bathroom sink, and went to find some panties to wear. My mind was clouded with the lust of finding my key, but I couldn't give in right now. Now that I was home, I could afford to get wasted.
My cupboards were usually packed with things of exciting natures. Exotic foods, expensive liquor, illegal liquor, and occasionally, drugs. It was a dark and rough phase I went through, but I guess the high never leaves you. They sat in a concealed part of the cabinet wall, behind the alcohol.
I grabbed the bottle of whiskey, and looked at the pitiful amount left in the decorative bottle. It wasn't even enough to fill a cup, but was too much for one shot glass. Knowing the poor fate of the whiskey, I shrugged and downed it in a sip. I gasped loudly, and let the burning liquid warm my belly up.
"Hmm, that's not going to be nearly enough for tonight," I observed out loud.
My mind presented the memory of the six hundred bits waiting in my wallet, and how cute they looked in a register. There weren't many places open this late that sold hard liquor, and I wasn't in the mood for hunting. My stomach rumbled in protest to my stationary position. I hadn't eaten since this morning, and I could always go for a bite to eat.
I removed the soaked key from my filthy sink, and grabbed my wallet from my discarded shorts, and headed out into the crime-riddled night.
The walk to Crusty's Pizzeria was surprisingly uneventful. After the small time I spent walking there, the old neon sign stared me in the face with nary a mugger or drug dealer to talk to me. A few cars remained in the parking lot, and the windows showed the inhabited interior. The place was the most successful establishment of its kind in the Under-District, and it had reason to be. The sauce on their pizza was made from some of the most savoury ingredients available in Equestria, made possible through the Black Market,but that never stopped the customers from eating in and ordering out. There were even rumours that Princess Luna had a thing for the Meat Lover's Calzone on the menu, but who knew if that was even true. Somebody would probably have to be shot for knowing that.
I pushed in on one of the brass door handles, and walked in. The few patrons sat scattered around the tables, eating a myriad of Neightalion foods on coloured plates. As tasty as the food looked and smelled, I wasn't here to gain ten pounds from meat and pasta sauce. I was here for the cheap booze.
I began my addiction-driven walk to the bar, but it soon dawned on me that I wouldn't drink alone. The other bar-goer sat, back hunched, over his glass. His leather jacket fit loosely over his jet black wings, the two almost merging in colour. The mop of sandy brown hair flopped over his head with nothing to restrain it's order. But I couldn't imagine him any other way.
I sat down on the stool next to his, and gave him a quick blow to the shoulder.
"Had enough?" I asked him.
He looked over at me, casting his deep blue orbs onto me, and shook his head.
"Vinyl? When do you know me to crap out on drinks?"
"Well, there was that one time..."
"Okay! You know that was an accident! How was I supposed to know the punch was spiked three different times?"
"You're too easy to mess with, you know that?"
"Yeah, yeah. So what brings you down here so late?"
I pointed at the caramel-coloured bottle sitting on the shelf behind the bar.
"The cheap booze."
I tapped the counter a few times, getting the bar-tender's attention. He stopped washing the mugs, and walked over to us. There were no words to be exchanged, no banter, no flirting. I was here for one thing, and I'm just glad he could understand that. I see, I point, I get, and that's the benefit of being prettier than most alcoholics.
The tender placed the bottle down in front of me, and put two shot glasses next to it. He muttered something to the effect of "Enjoy", and returned to his drudgery.
The top of the bottle unscrewed with little effort, and I threw it away, never to be seen again. I filled the small crystal glasses, and gave one to Pickup.
"Here's to getting completely smashed!" I toasted, raising the glass above my head.
"Amen to that," Pickup replied, knocking his glass against mine.
I tipped the shot into my mouth, and let the burning liquid settle inside me. So began a night of fun!
I had long since forgotten how many times that the glass met my lips. All I knew was that the whiskey bottle was depleted, and I wasn't drunk enough.
"Dammit man! Why am I not drunk?" I asked Pickup, who was face-down on the bar.
"Becaush you madsh meh drink mosht of it," Pickup slurred out.
"Oh right. But you can't be that far gone, right?" I asked him.
"Yoush should die you hairsh red? What about that?"
"Never mind. Want me to fix ya' up?"
"My carsh isn't red, why ish that Valore?"
I rolled my eyes at his drunken slurs. I had to either take him home, or sober him up, and my house wasn't big enough for drunk idiots.
"Hey, look at me," I commanded.
He looked over at me, a ridiculous grin on his face. I focused as much of my magic into my hand as I could, and brought it against his face with thunderous force. The echoing sound of the slap was enough to draw attention to us, but I doubt anyone had a real care.
"OW!" he shouted. "What the Tartarus Vinyl?"
"You have to drive home dude, and I wasn't gonna let you die," I replied in mock sincerity.
"Whatever, but you wouldn't help me unless I had to help you."
"Exactly. That's why you're my driver for the night."
Pickup shook his head, and grabbed his keys out of his jacket.
"Fine, but you owe me another one," he fumed in frustration.
I turned around in my stool to face the door. I was originally going to go home, but beauty hit me in the face first.
She walked into the restaurant, flanked by her friends, with a gait that only a goddess could achieve. Her pumps clicked every time the struck the floor, drawing my attention to her like a sick metronome. The jeans she chose to wear hugged her perfectly curved legs, and drew out her thin waist and full butt.
Resting over her beasts and shoulders, was an odd black dress shirt, collar and all. Secured tightly around her collar was a purple bow tie, an odd choice of fashion for a girl, but yet so...intriguing.
Her hair was a darker shade of black, almost black, and spilled freely onto her shoulders. The lack of bangs revealed her glowing eyes, the same odd purple as her bow tie. I lost myself in the depth that they portrayed, and nearly fell out of my seat. To top it all off, a shade of purple stained her lips, giving her a youthful sophistication to her entire look.
Her accompanying friends were almost non-existent at this point. The beauty of that one girl made my head spin. I was certain that the angels were singing their songs as she walked past my and my drool.
"See something you like?" Pickup asked, snapping me out of my trance.
"What? Huh? Did...did you say something?" I asked him.
"I think you answered my question," he replied with a smirk.
"Did you see her, man?"
"Yeah. She was certainly a looker."
"A looker? A LOOKER? Are you fucking serious, she was amazing!"
"Have a crush now, do we?"
I didn't answer his question, but instead, I looked over to perfection and watched her order food. Even the way she did that was sexy. She flipped her hair behind her, and closed her eyes when she spoke to the waitress. The waitress wrote down whatever she had said, and walked over to me, for that's where the kitchen was.
"Hey! Hey waitress! A second please!" I shouted at her.
"Can I help you?" she asked politely
"Yes, yes you can! Tack on a shot of rum, on me, to her order. Okay?"
"Yes all right. Thank you for your kindness!"
The waitress walked into the kitchen, and I moved to a table closer to Ms. Perfect. I was close enough now to hear her voice as she talked to her friends. Her voice was lyrical in beauty, and with her Castle District accent, it was over all angelic. There was nothing wrong with this girls, and I couldn't help but to let the love flow. It must be love, because this has to be the first girl I've ever seen that I was afraid to talk to. I was a slob, and she was a queen. I had to put on my best game just to get in ten seconds of conversation in.
The waitress returned with their drink orders, and I could see the clear rum sitting on the tray with them. She put the drinks down on the table, followed by the rum.
"Here are your drinks, are you ready to order?" the waitress asked.
"No, but I do have a question. I didn't order...this", she said pointing to the shot glass. "Could you take it away?"
"Oh yes, someone paid for that for you. A gift from a stranger."
"Who, may I ask?"
The waitress pointed to me, and I waved like a child with the dumbest grin on my face. The girl looked almost annoyed, and her friends snickered at me.
"Well, then you can kindly tell her that I don't partake in such vulgar practices such as drinking," she said with a degree of dignity that I've never seen.
The waitress took the shot of rum away, and left with their orders. I felt the small sour taste of disappointment in my gut. Sure, maybe she didn't drink, but she didn't have to be so...cold about her denial.
I sat there alone, waiting for the waitress to return with their food. I wasn't going to be defeated that easily. Weather she liked it or not, that girl was going home with me tonight.
The next phase of my plan returned on a metal tray. Their orders were piled high with various foods, and had small contrails of steam flowing from them.
I jumped up, and seized the girl's order off of the tray. The waitress looked confused at first, but soon caught on to my plan.
"I'm sorry, but who are you?" the girl asked, looking quite annoyed.
"I'm V-Vinyl Scratch," I stammered out.
"All right then Ms. Vinyl, would you mind giving me my food? I am quite hungry," she replied.
"If I give you your food, can I at least get your name?"
"If you must know, it is Philharmonica, Octavia Philharmonica. Now, my food."
"How about our food? I buy it, and you share it with me?"
"You wish to share?"
She grabbed the basket of food from my hand, and dumped it on my chest. The fries found it's way down my shirt, and the grease and the ketchup from her cheeseburger stained my tank top. I looked down at the mess Octavia made, and felt a small lump in my throat.
"Is that split fair?" she spat venomously.
I drew in a deep inhale, and calmed my raging nerves down. I don't think she wanted to be with me if I tackled her to the ground and began to strangle her. Instead, I retrieved one of the fries from my cleavage, and popped it in my mouth.
"Damn, they make good fries here!" I said with the fry still in my mouth.
Octavia rolled her eyes, and sat back down with her friends, her eyes away from me.
"Well, okay then. See you around?" I asked.
"I would hope not," she replied, not moving her head to look at me.
I nodded, and walked back to Pickup. He had a concerned look on his face, and patted the stool next to him. I flopped down onto the stool, and sighed.
"You okay?" he asked. "She was a real bitch."
"What?! She was fantastic!" I protested
"Are you serious? She dumped food on your boobs! At that point, I'd be pretty turned off by her."
"It's a girl thing, I wouldn't expect you to understand. She's everything I could imagine the perfect girlfriend to be."
"How do you even know that she's even a lesbian?"
"I don't, but I can at least find out the more interesting way."
"This isn't going to end well for you, you know that."
"So what? At least I died trying."
I hailed the waitress for hopefully the last time, and brought her over to me. I whispered my plan into her ear, and she returned to the kitchen with a small smirk. After a small amount of time, she emerged from the now-closed kitchen. She was carrying a white plate. On it, was a piece of Manehattan Cheesecake drizzled in hot fudge. Next to the wedge of cake, was a small puddle of the sauce, shaped into a heart.
"Is this alright ma'am?" the waitress asked.
"Perfect!" I replied.
She went off to go deliver my gift to the beautiful Octavia. I gazed over to her table to watch her reaction.
"Cheesecake? That's your plan?" Pickup asked.
"Yes, now shh! I'm trying to see what she does!"
Octavia looked at the plate quizzically at first, but her sternness soon faded into a smile. It was magnificent. I could feel the warmth from here. She looked back at the waitress, and said something to her just outside of the range of my ears.
"She want's to see you ma'am," she said.
I burst out of the stool, and walked over to her table. I was doing my best to contain the excitement I had brimming inside me, but I'm sure that I was already bursting at the seams.
"Y-you wanted to see me?" I asked her, avoiding her crystal eyes.
"What do you hope to gain?" she asked back
"Huh? Wait, what?"
"I'll ask again, what do you hope to gain?"
"Well...you. I though that was obvious."
"Really? You're not just trying to bed me like every other street rat in this deplorable place? Not just trying to advance yourself in this world? And how were you able to ascertain that I was even a homosexual in the first place?"
"I, um, didn't but-"
"I think that's enough from you. So long Ms. Scratch. So long, and good night."
And with that, she got up, and walked away. She walked away from her friends whose faces were agape with shock. She walked away from the honest gift a stranger gave her. But what hurt the most, she walked away from the girl whose heart she just crushed.
Her friends chased after her, and I slumped into Octavia's former seat. The chocolate heart began to loose its shape, and melt on the plate. There was a stinging in the back of my eyes, a stinging that I hadn't felt in a long time. It was the salty burn of tears. It's been at least ten years since I had last cried, and it looks like that streak was going to end.
At some point during my spiral into sadness, Pickup had sat across from me. He was rubbing my hand, trying to soothe my aching chest.
"Come on Vinyl, she's not worth tears. Let's go home," he said in a mediocre soothing tone.
"You don't understand! She...she was the one," I said back, tears threatening to fall.
"Just give it time Vinyl, you'll find someone else.
I lumbered into my apartment, not even bothering to lock the door, and went straight to my bed. I flopped down on it, and buried my face in my pillow. I let the tears fall for the first time in years while taking a bite of my pillow, hoping to choke back the sobs.
Why was she so awful?, I thought to myself.
Is this what it's like to be in love?
Author's Note
Yes, exposition is a musical term.
