#pigeonblend

[jadeofdior]

sweet dreams ☁️💫🍬

[jadeofdior]

chrissy and francine ʕ•̫͡•ʔ♡ʕ•̫͡•ʔ

[jadeofdior]

glitter •*¨*•.¸¸♪

[villagerlavis]

Crème | 7B00-0023-3299 | @pigeonblend

[coffeehouseblues-blog]

There was one thing you never really considered investing in, and that was a car. By now you were used to walking everywhere. There were some cases when catching cabs and hitch hiking were necessary, but for the most part, you like to walk. 

One reason for that should have been pretty obvious. Being a wandering musician didn't really rake in the cash as much as it used to (if it ever did), and you had to realize early on that gambling or scams weren't really your thing. The only person you're fooling is that sweet waitress that takes pity when you vaguely let on that you're homeless and don't own anything but what she sees, but there's still some truth in that. 

The other reason was that the time it took to walk from one city to another, you could be forming another melody in your head, seeing the lyrics and notes replace trees and street signs. Most of the time you'll start to whistle, as you usually do, and imagine that the birds are singing along. 

This time around, it was no different. Even as you hop into a cab and give the driver, an inquisitive elder man with an amusing accent, a direction. There was another song, turning the gears in your head as you mindlessly stare out at the rain, waiting to fill a room full of life.

You decided a while ago performed for more than just money. You targeted small bars and cafes because that was where most of them were. Worn out people who might have felt a little lost, and somehow ended up wasting the night away there, neglecting the coffee or drink in front of them and burning out almost as fast as the cigarette hanging loosely from their fingers. They wouldn't be expecting you. Before that first strum of your guitar, you were just a blur, blended in with the rest of the crowd. You hadn't much of an attention seeker as a kid, but when you closed your eyes and started to play, you hoped that every single pair of eyes in that establishment were locked on you, and wouldn't be able to tear away until you strummed the last note. You secretly hoped deep down that they realized it was all for them. 

"Alright, here's yer stop."

By then you notice the rain has died down, and the roads have been replaced with more trees and houses, all scattered around. You hardly notice the cab driver, who follows your eyes and leans back, nodding like someone who had seen the look on your face about a hundred times. The seat squeaks  below him. 

"It'll grow on ye. Now, ye'll be payin' the fare, right?" 

You thank him, and give up the last of your earnings from the last gag, and take your first step into the town. You hear about this place all the tome, a town called Paradise, but it's the first you've seen it for yourself. You know there's a city a few miles north by bus, with a quaint little fountain you could perform in front of. Only, there weren't any buses scheduled to make a stop in Paradise for the rest of the day, and the clouds weren't looking very negotiable. Just when you thought to call it a day and look for the nearest inn, something on the map catches your eye. The Roost, a cafe in the museum. You can practically feel it calling your name. On glance at your watch told you it was 8 p.m., which seems perfect. A cup of coffee before asking the owner or manager or whoever was in charge if they're in need of a little live entertainment seemed like the perfect way to end a Saturday. You tighten your grip on the handle of the guitar case and grin down at the map, already feeling a song coming on.