Oct 23, 2016
Lev had been set up on the corner for about nine hours at this point. His fingers are bleeding a little, his hands ache and all he wants is a cigarette. But he can't stop playing now, cause its getting colder and colder as it gets darker out and he still doesn't have the money for a motel room. Unfortunately though, the streets are all but dead, his music the only sound that can be heard besides the homeless coughing and mumbling. He sits his instrument down, taking a swig of water, his throat sore from singing all day. The musician lights up a smoke, and rests his head against the wall, hoping that he'll have enough for tomorrow night as he begins to shiver small.