For the Record// H.S.

ACROSS THE SEVEN SEAS

"Don't forget about us! You're basically going to be a music hippie across the seven seas." I yell out as Mitch and Sarah walk to grab their bags and start heading towards their gate once their flight gets called to start boarding.

I hate coming to the airport, it's always crowded with people who are as lost as tourists in Times Square.

Don't get me wrong, it's alluring to be surrounded by so many people who have no connections with each other interact. To be able to observe and see the personality that's shown just above the surface of each person is so fascinating to me.

Sometimes I think that's why I'm an extrovert, I'm a sucker for observing people, it's refreshing in a sense to know not a single person is exactly alike.

"Nice try dipshit. We'll still be on the same continent, now we know you failed geography along with math in high school." Sarcasm was laced throughout his words, "Anyways, you can't get rid of us that easy, don't forget to take care of the store. I have the vinyl I picked for this month under the register, grab it whenever. Love you Low"

"Love you too Mitchie, but I love you more Sarah." With that Mitch flicks me off and Sarah blows a kiss in my direction as they walk into their gate. Now that they boarded their flight reality hits- I have a fucking store to go take care of, along with a cat to watch.

The drive back was peaceful with just my songs going through the speakers and the warm July air pushing through the windows as I backtrack into the city from the airport. Kiggy is in her cage in the passenger seat because I felt bad for leaving her in the backseat by herself, I didn't want her to be frightened.

It's about seven A.M. now, the sun encasing the whole sky with the brightness that radiates off of it.

The sunsets are never as pretty here as they were in Delaware, but that's the only thing I miss about that little state I once called home.

Another full sunrise where the man on the moon never meets the sun.

Does the sun have a lady trapped on it, just like the man got stuck on the moon?

I have to make it back to my flat in time to get changed out of my airport attire, which is just a very oversized t-shirt and leggings, and change into an outfit that I wouldn't die of a heat stroke in.

I don't know how Mitch survives the July heat in America with his long hair, but I just know he's going to die in Jamaica with his lovely locks.

Milo is scheduled to open the store today, which means I'll have the job of closing, I guess living above Mitch's beloved record store has an advantage when you're asked to watch over it. The day after Mitch asked me for my help with the store as he left, I cancelled my Wednesday classes at the studio for the month and double checked all my upcoming art shows.

At least I can cancel my classes without worrying about losing the money because Mitch would not let me decline his offer for putting me on For the Record's payroll this month.

I have two art shows back to back in about a week and a half and then another one in three weeks, a day before the love birds come back from their getaway.

I'm in desperate need of new pieces for this show because if I keep showing up with the same five projects, that would be embarrassing and shows that no one wants my art.

Being an underground artist at the Basely Museum is rough because the critics are so used to more modern artists and mine are nothing like their usual real-life portraits with neutral colors as the base.

I pull up in front of Mitch and I's shared complex and see Milo's rusted old bike locked on the rack. I've been offering to buy him a new one for at least three months now, but he refuses my offer.