Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog
...where no one notices the contrast of white on white.
god I love that song so much. I was listening to it on repeat today during my hour and a half break from classes, and I just started writing.
I could tell he was full of shit, but it was interesting to listen to him weave his story. Watching his facial expressions shift, I could tell he was gaining confidence in his own lies as his tale steadily became more intricate.
Slipping from his seat upon a bar stool, he tried with great effort to stay upright as he flagged down the waitress. It was obvious that he was already past his limit. Giving the setting, this was not surprising. The old pub, air thick with smoke and raucous laughter, was the meeting place of many an old codger. The self proclaimed bard was the exception. Young and usually graceful, he was a far cry from the old men that surrounded him.
Suddenly, as though an unseen force was guiding his movements, he plopped down rather violently in a nearby chair. His slight frame proved to be too much for the aged wooden chair, which snapped beneath him, sending him crashing to the dirty pub floor. This was my queue.
Making my way over, I was a little angry at the cantankerous old men laughing at him as he lay on the peanut and pretzel covered floor. From him position on the ground, he stared up at me, golden eyes wide and almost childlike with the innocence you imagine into them. Your anger ebbs away.
anyways, idk, it may turn into a fic if anyone likes it.