Snippet #2212515

The week had been useless, Colby felt useless. He hadn’t located another job yet. Correction; he had located places with help wanted signs, however his interviewing abilities sucked a bucket of dead sea cod in a thick cheese sauce. He always grew nervous when it came time to actually speak as part of the interview process, as a result he stuttered horribly. Colby knew he had been lucky to land the job he had, but now he realized just how much luck had been involved. Luck that eluded him this whole past week.

Colby wound up doing what he could, busking in the park. It was a public park, and he found a spot that had decent traffic, but out of the way enough to not cause a jam. He had his keyboard, portable stand, and a small folding stool to sit on. His tip jar was an empty gallon water jug with a slit for tips to be dropped into. The whole thing was then secured with a rope tied around it, and the other end was tethered to his shoe. This wasn’t his first time busking.

Colby had experienced people who ‘dipped’, meaning they made it look like they were leaving a tip, when they were actually taking money out. Then there were the outright thieves who took the hat or bowl and ran with it. This was the best way he had discovered to keep whatever tips he managed to draw. It was another reason to find legitimate work in the music field so he didn’t have to busk, but he suspected there’d be a lot more subtle stealing he’d have to contend with then.

At least the weather was nice. It meant more people would be out and about, and the park was always a populated place when it was sunny. Colby liked the keyboard, but he didn’t rely too heavily on the electrical components, preferring the actual piano sound. Real pianos however were neither cheap, nor portable. He warmed up with a little ditty, nothing remarkable and certainly not memorable. His real niche was likely closer to classical than anything else. Colby played what he felt. He knew he could make more money playing what was ‘popular’, and he did that when he had a gig, but this? This was something else entirely.

Colby let his fingers caress the keys, focusing on the sound of every little press. A smile crossed his face and warmth flooded his blue eyes. It wasn’t hard at all to become lost in the music. It had always been a way to express himself, a way that didn’t involve stuttering or anxious breaths in some vain attempt to just talk normally. This was music. This was his soul. This was … everything.

And oh, how he played.