A/N I'm deleting this account and merging this story with another, please look out for it again.
The rain was falling on the hood of the car as I drove into the cold evening.
Taking a sip of my coffee I got into the right lane, the windshield wipers moving side to side desperately trying to get rid of the rain.
Making right then left into the parking lot I pulled on my jacket from the passengers seat.
The rain making a loud 'Thud' on my windshield.
Grabbing my hat I leaped out of the car and headed towards the building.
My hands buried into the pockets of my jacket as I looked up at the building.
"Art Show" painted in bold letters was plastered on the front of it, indicting I was at the right place. The once familiar place, I used to go to.
The rain hit my hat hard and began to make a slight puddle in it, a pool of water slid down from it and into my face.
As I approached the entrance I stopped to pull a pack of cigarettes out.
As I lit one I walked over to the shade of the entrance of the building where it wasn't raining.
After I was done smoking I put out my cigarette and walked inside. It was warm and bright, many people were scattered throughout the large building, some I knew, others I'll meet, few I'll ignore.
I started towards the bar passing a couple of interesting pieces of art 'I'll come back to that' I thought to myself.
While walking pass the many people knew I gave them a quick nod or perhaps a hug, depending on who they were.
Knowingly I walked up to the
bartender with a smirk.
"Why, hello there Ira. How are you today?" I said, my smirk growing bigger and a bit cocky as she shot me a glare of annoyance.
Ira was my age being 23 and she was tall and lean. Her skin was a olive tone and she had long dark brown hair with deep brown eyes.
Ira is a very creative and sarcastic person, though she hides behind her whole tough act. Ira has had quite a dramatic life. Her parents were killed when she was 4 and she was living on the streets around the time she turned 13. But she still pulled through it and put a smile on her face no matter how crappy her life was. That's one of the reasons I admire her so much.
"Oh shut it, Porter! Lemme guess, Old Fashion as always?" she asked while a smirk crept on her heart shaped lips.
"Ah, Ira. You know me to well..." I said. Jokingly.
She rolled her eyes and I chuckled.
As she made my drink I scanned the room. When I found nothing in particular I turned back around to face Ira with my drink in hand, a flirtatious little smile set on her lips as her eyes tried showing confidence but failed.
I grinned at her and took my drink, taking a sip of it I waited for what she had to say.
"So I hear Tim Kasher's playing soon... We should go...?" she phrased it as an question rather than a statement.
YOU ARE READING
The Artist is a story about Porter Elliott Kenworth, a hipster from Portland, OR who has a broken heart and a past he doesn't want to go back to. When we first meet Porter, he's at an art show. We get to see how his mind works and the way he sees ar...