The Big Smoke

Chapter One: Street Fighting Man

"I'm London." This seemed to finally get his attention. The man had been so focused on his drawing that when I first cleared my throat it didn't seem to phase him. So, after one more failed attempt I simply introduced myself.

"You're an American in London named London..." His words came out like a question even though there was a clear answer.

"I know, the irony is palpable ," I stated blandly, hoping we could brush over the subject. I didn't feel like reminiscing on the amount of bullying I have received over the years. It was enough to fill an entire joke book, "But now that we've addressed that...So, uh..."

I half expected him to ignore me and go back to drawing because he wasted no time looking back down at the work in front of him. In the little time that I've spent here, which was less than fifteen minutes, I knew my work was cut out for me. I was more than prepared for the effects of the carpal tunnel I would be feeling tonight, but not for the lack of energy from my new boss.

"Well, uh..." He sighed in what felt like frustration but could be passed as trying to get his thoughts together. He started to scratch his head while he shuffled a few papers around before collecting the ones he deemed fit to hand me, "I may as well throw you in the deep end. Here, start these storyboards. Let's see how far you can get by the end of the day."

My first assignment. I should have been nervous about the amount of work that was just handed to me, but the anxiety of not being caught outweighed that, which at this moment I was beyond grateful for. I lied my way here. Everything I had said applying for this job and everything I said I had done was either made up or stretched beyond repair. I was desperate and this is where desperation had led me.

I wasn't sure where to set up or even what I was supposed to bring. I received no instructs besides to show up on time, which I admittedly already fail at. So, I slowly pulled the straps of my backpack off of my arms. The very same backpack that I shoved my belongings in when I first impulsively decided to move here. With each item I took out, the more settled I felt in my decision. This was the last chance I had and I had to give it my all.

From where I sat, I could see I had already made my first mistake. I had chosen the wrong table to set up at. I could tell by the way the man who apparently never lifted his eyes, glanced quickly at my decision with displeased eyes. I decided if he wasn't going to speak up, I wasn't going to move. Two could play this game.

This was going to be a long day of my own thoughts and nothing else. For an artist's studio, the environment was beyond bland. There was no atmosphere. Everything was straightforward and checked everything off the list of what should be in a studio, but it held no warmth or personality.

As my graphite dwindled, I daydreamed about what touches I would add to make it more lively. Music to start. Maybe this guy was surrounded by so much music that he wanted a break, but I could show him a thing or two. Then, I would get more light in here. The yellow that illuminated from the desk lamps only made me feel tired like it was the end of the day. The vitamin D from the natural light also would do this guy some good. Sprinkle in a few plants and the air quality would be ten times better than this haze created from his cigarettes. But if I really had it my way our view would be of buildings, but of the ocean. That way it was ever-changing depending on how the water felt that day.

But I could no longer fantasize about my dream studio because I started to get annoyed with a particular curve. No matter which way I drew it I hated it. I started to scratch the paper a little too harshly causing minimal, almost imperceivable damage, but I knew if I didn't stop soon, I wouldn't be able to cover up my mistakes as easily as I could now. I almost screamed out in frustration, but I remembered I wasn't alone in the room. So, doing the only thing I could to get through this annoyance, I stood up.