Seattle is a gloomy place.
Rain falls very often, and the city always looks dark and heartbroken.
If you watch the rain fall, you'll feel a sense of... awareness. You're aware of what you are and what the world is. And though most find the city dead and ugly, I find it full of life.
It is the most beautiful thing.
I sit down next to the window of my apartment. A cigarette in between my cold fingers, my hair a mess, my body aching.
Last night, me and my band, "Crescent Sun" opened up for Pearl Jam.
About a year ago I had formed the band, with my boyfriend, Corey Gill, our bass guitarist.
I am the lead singer/songwriter and performer. We enlisted a couple of his friends to join, Donny Ferrin, our drummer, and Jordan Dean, our lead guitarist.
We were discovered by Mr. Eddie Vedder, who for some reason, loved our stuff. So we had a couple singles on the radio and kinda got recognized by MTV, but
it's going along slow. But that's okay with me.
It's 1991 and Pearl Jam has released their album, Ten, an album I fell absolutely in love with.
It was our fifth performance on tour, at home, in Seattle.
We had the entire day to enjoy our lives before getting on the road again.
It was about 9 o'clock in the morning, and I already was smoking my habit. I had all my belongings on the bus except for my back pack, which kept money, a change of clothes, a notepad and pens, and cigarettes. Of course.
I'm completely lost in my own thoughts when I hear a gentle knock on my door.
Who the hell needs me right now? It's my fucking day off.
I got up and opened the door, to see Eddie standing before me, I guitar slung over his shoulder.
"Hey, uh, I was just wondering if you wanted to do a bit of writing together," he said, with a cheesy grin on his face.
I had become pretty close friends with Eddie and the rest of the band, and had done a little bit of writing with them every now and then.
"Eddie, I look like shit."
He gave me this mischievous look, one I knew very well. Eddie wasn't a rude or asshole-ish kinda guy. He always treated me with respect and we get along really well. It was strange how comfortable I felt around him.
"So do I,"
he grinned again. He then flipped his long curly brown hair over his head and pointed directly to nasty lookin' snarles.
"I was thinking about getting dreds," he continued.
"Maybe a reggae Pearl Jam album," he laughed. I started laughing too, damn, this dude always makes me laugh.
"Alright, sure," I said.
He came into my small one bedroom apartment and asked to sit down, even though he knows he's always welcome. He pulled out a black marker from who knows where.
"Do you have a notepad?" He asked.
"Yeah, hold on."
I walked into my room, and grabbed my backpack full of the shit I needed.
I walked back into the living room
area, where Eddie sat. He was combing his fingers through his messy hair, looking very innocent and vulnerable.
"Alright! Hurry up we only have mere hours!" He said with a smirk.
"Shut the fuck up you impatient bastard,"
"Well excuse me," he laughed.
I sat down next to him on the couch, and set the notepad on my lap.
"So what do you want to write about?" I asked.
