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A crumpled piece of paper fell to the ground and tumbled over the red rubber, littered with tiny pebbles and leftover crumbs the elementary school kids had spread during their lunch break. The yellow-tinted material came to a halt in front of two heavy black boots.
A dark brown hand reached for the paper and picked it up.
"What's this?" The owner of the voice, Winona Friar, twirled the paper in her hands and looked at her friend, who hung his head.
Blue dishevelled hair and a pair of worn-out Converse was all she could see. Slowly, Kei lifted his head and looked at her with tired eyes.
"Just read it, Winnie," he said and slouched back into his previous position, the girl falling down next to him.
Winnie smoothed the paper out and scanned over it. Her neutral expression turned sour. It was yet another letter from the small concert hall across the popular Taco place, rejecting their request for a gig, stating that they wanted to have someone more experienced with a well-known name. It frustrated Kei to no end, and now Winnie felt her mood dampening too.
"We've been playing for five years, how much more experience do they want?" he whined and his scowl deepened.
"They need a good name, Kei, not some crusty teenagers," Winnie retorted and twirled the strings on her boot.
"Crusty teenagers, my ass. Kim HaNeul is playing too." Kei shook his head in disappointment. Not because of the former harmony guitarist, who had managed to climb up the ladder in the business after leaving two years ago, in fact, he was very proud of her and they even exchanged different musical ideas with each other frequently, but he felt like he was losing some unspoken bet. It was not fair that the whole band had been working day and night and dedicating so much of their free time for seemingly nothing. They used to be in the local newspaper, what had happened?
"Kim HaNeul? Where is she playing?"
"Blue Shell Center, I believe."
"You got tickets?" Winnie loved going to HaNeul's concert and cheering on her former bandmate.
"Nope."
"Come on, Kei," she ripped the yellow letter apart and threw it in the bin, showing her amazing aim off, "I know what you're thinking."
"No, you don't."
Winnie grinned and tapped his leg with the tip of her boot, "Yes, I do. You think you're a loser because we don't get any gigs. As if it's your fault all alone"
"Well, he is a loser, but we're in this together," another voice chimed in and the two friends whipped around.
"Allen, my boy, my man," Winnie sang in a very off-key voice and hugged the brunette boy with both arms.
