Bangarang {Sonny Moore/Skrillex}

Saturday (Part Four).

Sophie's P.O.V.

My phone suddenly rang in my pocket, and I turned the annoying piece of technology off.

I walked across the busy Los Angeles road, from which it had started to rain a little.

I walked into the small bar, where only a few old guys and the bartender were in.

Every eye looked up to scan me, then went back to the beer and poker games.

I took a deep internal breath, and sat at the bar.

"What will it be, darlin?" The bartender asked. He was young, about the age of twenty, 5"11 and had blonde hair with hazel eyes.

I chucked.

"A glass of your best beer, 'darlin'," I replied, and he went to do his business.

He handed me my drink and he leaned on the wooden bar counter, looking smug. I frowned.

"Yes?" I asked.

"What's your name?" He asked.

I thought about this for a while, debating to tell him my name or not.

"Jay," I settled.

He took out his hand for me to shake.

"Hamish," he said with a smile.

I returned the smile for a moment, then looked down the the drink he had poured me, looking down into the auburn-orange mixture.

"So, why so sad, Jay?" He asked.

"Because of heaps of things." Was my reply.

"Such as?" He asked, grabbing a recently-washed beer glass and drying it with a towel.

I frowned at him.

"Hey, I'm a bartender. I've heard lots of tales as people come and go," he said, and I sighed and decided to tell him.

Once I'd finished telling him, his eyebrows were raised and his eyes were wide.

"In all my years of bartending, I had never heard some dilemma just like that." He said, putting the beer glass away and grabbing another one, drying it.

I shot him a look.

"Hey, it's true."

"Hey, it's true." I mocked him.

"Okay, now you're just being childish." He said, frowning.

I sighed, taking a sip of my beer, swallowed, then left the beer rim hovering at my lips.

"Sorry." I apologised.

"it's fine." Said Hamish, still frowning in concern.

"So, what do you think I should do?" I asked, sighing and putting the beer glass down, stretching out my arms then crossed them over my chest.

He gave out a huge sigh, then shrugged.

"I don't know. It's up to you," he said, and I stared at him expectantly with wide eyes.

"What?" He asked, finally

"This is where the cliché scene where the bartender gives wise advice to the person in distress." I said flatly. "And you ain't givin' no advice."

"Well, this may be L.A, Kid, but it isn't Hollywood." He said and I frowned.

"Very funny." I said sarcastically.

"I know; I know. I'm hilarious. I should be a comedian." He said, retorting the sarcasm.

"Definitely." I said, double-retorting the sarcasm.

He sighed, chuckling a little.

"Look, I do have advice, but it's going to sound cheesy," he said.

"Hit me." I replied, and then he hit me with his tea-towel.

I gave him a 'really?' Look, and he simply put his arms up.

"Hey, you said it." He replied with a smirk, and I hit him playfully on the arm.

We laughed a little, then dead seriousness covered the air. Not even glass could cut the focus.

"Okay, I have advice," He announced. "My simple advice to you is; to follow your heart." He said, poking near my collarbone.

I sat thinking about it. Silence coated the room, apart from the odd murmur of the drunks in the corner of the bar.

Then, after twenty minutes of staring into space, I finally knew what to do.

My heart had told me with the help of Hamish.

I stood up, gave Hamish a hundred dollar bill, and walked out the door.

"Thanks for the help, Hamish. Keep the change." I threw over my shoulder.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a gasping Hamish, and the shattering of the beer glass he was wiping dry.

The beer only cost six dollars. That meant he had a ninety-four dollar tip. And it was worth it.

I had made my decision.

I was going to follow my heart.

And, my dreams.

I was going to see Sonny.