Thanks, kind stranger from Maryland (I read your blog)!~ I feel loved! :D If you feel so inclined to read any more of the tiny musings, rants & stories o’ mine, you can check them out here: http://weirdcityreport.deviantart.com/gallery/33960967 or you can just go through my tumblr archive. :)
He slunk along the greasy concrete walls of the subway, the roar of the trains sounding down the tunnel. He could already feel the shivers coming on, his fingers twitching from the receding drug. The liquid gold that pumped through his veins only two hours ago was already turning into lead.
Dammit, I need another fix. His shoulders were shaking violently now, as the full chill of the passing trains swept through the tunnel. The guy said 4 AM, Penn Station.
He had arrived. He checked his watch, the sole expensive item he owned. 3:45. He had fifteen minutes to kill. The tunnel was dimly lit and almost completely empty, save for a girl with a hefty duffel bag and spot-white sneakers staring at the map. Despite the chill and the lack of audience, he pulled out his guitar and set the open case in front of him. Slowly, he began to strum softly, humming New York State of Mind.
This was one of the few sober moments he truly enjoyed. His fingers steadied as his notes became clearer and louder. Yes, in this dank, filthy tunnel, this was what made him feel truly alive. The light vibrations of the guitar coursed through his haggard frame. Closing his sunken eyes, he began to sing, a throaty, lonesome sound that reverberated soulfully off the walls.
It was so easy living day by day
Out of touch with the rhythm and blues
But now I need a little give and take
The New York Times, The Daily News
It comes down to reality
And it’s fine with me ‘cause I’ve let it slide
Don’t care if it’s Chinatown or on Riverside
I don’t have any reasons
I’ve left them all behind
I’m in a New York state of mind.
I’m just taking a Greyhound on the Hudson River Line
‘Cause I’m in a New York state of mind.
The last note sung, he leaned back against the wall, and slid to the floor. The shivers were back, even more violent than before. Where the hell is Mike? The headaches were starting to pound through his brain, and it didn’t help that some train somewhere in the station bowels had arrived. He pressed his fingers to his temples, desperate to stop the shaking and the pounding.
“That was an amazing song.” He opened his eyes. A pair of white sneakers squeaked in front of the guitar case, and he looked up to see a pair of wide brown eyes staring down at him. “Did you write it yourself?”
“Naw, girlie,” he drawled. “Billy Joel. Ever heard of him?” She shook her head. The girl was a subtle, pretty sort, with choppy brown bangs just brushing the tops of her eyes. “Weeell then, drop a dollar in, and I’ll play you another song.” She smiled shyly, and dropped a bill into the guitar case.
He smirked and said, “And to whom shall I dedicate this next song to?”
“This next tune I’d like to dedicate to a chocolate-eyed darling named Gracie Lewis.” He picked up the guitar. “It’s called Grace Kelly.”
Do I attract you?
Do I repulse you with my queasy smile?
Am I too dirty?
Am I too flirty?
Do I like what you like?
I could be wholesome
I could be loathsome
I guess I’m a little bit shy
Why don’t you like me?
Why don’t you like me without making me try?
I tried to be like Grace Kelly
But all her looks were too sad
So I try a little Freddie
I’ve gone identity mad!
The train thundered in as soon as he finished, and the crowds filed out of the cars and up the stairwell. The girl was carried away into the crowds, and all that was left of her was a five-dollar bill that fluttered into the guitar case. And as soon as the crowds cleared, a pair of scuffed cowboy boots stood in front of the guitar case, tapping rhythmically, impatiently.
“You look like shit, kid.”
The headaches were drilling even more than ever, and his fingers curled into shaking fists that pounded on the ground.
“Dammit, Jack, you’re late.” He snapped the guitar case closed with a vengeance. “I’m dyin’ here.” He fumbled around his coat for the needle and handed it to the dealer. He’d have gold pulsating through his nerves and veins in no time.
This high was what he lived for. The songs didn’t matter anymore.
This made me really happy when I animated it. :)