Five days after I got the job at Scott's-the bar down the street- I was losing faith. I'd gone through most of the photo album and looked at all of the pictures franed on the walls of the owner's office. By the sixth day, at roughly two in the morning, I still had no idea on what to paint.
It was spring break now, and I had hoped that with the end of the week would come some inspiration without the weight of any of my art projects bearing down on me. But of course that wasn't the case. It almost never was.
"Come on," I mumbled, chewing the end of my pen as I flipped through the photo album. There were only about three pages left and I was beginning to worry that with the end of the book would come the absolute hopelessness of coming up with the perfect image for Scott's.
I glanced at my clock and groaned. This was the third night I'd been up this late for this project, and for all three nights I ended up with nothing. I climbed off the bed and scooped up the album into my arms, leaving it open to the page I left off on, even though I knew it was the second to last. I could have just gotten it over with and gone through the last of the album before I went to sleep, but as I said before, I was dreading the end.
Just as I turned off the light on my nightstand and climbed back into bed, there was a knock at my front door. I propped myself up on my elbows and glared out of my room and in the direction of my front door, directing all of my negative energy at the person on the other side. I sighed to myself and tossed the covers off of myself and got to my feet.
Still in my sweats and sweatshirt, I shuffled down the hall to the front door, leaning up on my tiptoes to peer through the peephole. I sighed softly, feeling my negativity dissipate as I saw who was on the other side and unlocked the door.
"Hey, Lana, I hope I didn't wake you, but judging by how quickly you answered the door, you were probably up," Michael chattered with far too much energy for someone awake at two in the morning. "But I had a question."
"What is it?" I asked, leaning against the doorway. I wasn't at all surprised that Michael was here. Over the past week since the party we had been hanging out quite often, almost like we used to. Almost.
"Well, our concert's coming up and I've been trying to sort stuff out and prepare," Michael explained, showing me another notebook, a little larger than the ones he wrote songs in. "I was hoping you could help me out."
"Oh, yeah, sure," I nodded, stepping back to let him in.
"Thanks," Michael gave me a small smile as he walked in, automatically heading towards the kitchen counter.
I shut the door and followed him, pulling up a stool next to him to sit on as he set his book down and opened it to a page. "Show me what you've got, Clifford."
"Alright," he nodded, turning the book to face me. On the pages before me was a familiar sketch that I'd seen before, the boys as stick figures, playing on the stage. Except now in this drawing, there was only the stage, which was more detailed than the last. "So we get to design our stage setup, and this is what I've got."
I cocked my head to the side and inspected the image, noting the placement of the amps and the little decorations on them. Concert in the Park was a thing mainly locals usually went to, with the exception of a few tourists passing through and other residents of the Bay Area. So in other words, it was a simple concert, not too publicized or flashy. Michael's setup was simple, but perfect.
"I like it," I nodded, looking up at him and catching his smile. "It's perfect. Do that."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure, Michael," I nodded, patting his hand. "Whatever you've got, has my approval, as long as you like it."
"So," Michael put his elbow up on the counter and rested his chin in his hand. "Even if I had an awful setup, but liked it, you would have approved?"
