"You're a star now, welcome to the big league. They all wanna pic. They all wanna see what you're made of, what you're gonna do. Is life gonna get the best of you?"
(Written 12/5/15 - 2/20/17)
(Under editing from 2/21/17 - 6/27/17)
Main Instagram: c...
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Oops! You think that I'm sent from above. I'm not that innocent.
The only good part about being stuck out here in Sandy Shores is there's a Futurama marathon on. I've heard the theme song at least twenty times today. I am currently sprawled out on Trevor's uncomfortable couch. I'd been laying here too long for the smells of blood and meth and sweat to bother me anymore. I laid out on my back and one foot was on the floor and my other knee was bent up and my arm was behind my head.
I wondered what rumors were blowing up today about me. Why I was at Franklin's, why I disappeared, why I cancelled the shows.
"What are you watching?" I heard Trevor ask. I turned my head and saw him leaning in the doorway of his bedroom with a beer bottle in his hand.
"Futurama." I replied and turned back to the tv.
"Futurama? That was popular like, seventeen years ago." He said and he walked over to the counter and set his beer down. "Uh huh." I said without paying attention. He watched the screen for a few moments.
"I'm so bored." I said while still watching the screen.
"Well then let's fucking do something." Trevor replied.
"There's nothing to do here." I looked over at him. "I wish we were at Del Perro."
"Well when we're not hiding we'll go. Me and you. Fuck we'll even get matching shirts. But for right now, let's go. Get up." Trevor grabbed my hand.
"Now? Really?" I asked as he drug me to the door.
"Yes really. Stop whining." He said without looking back at me. "Well then I gotta put my shoes on. And make up - what if someone sees me and takes a picture and they put it in the magazine?"
"Stop being so paranoid. Sandy Shores is not the place where you'd find any gossip rags anyway. Get your damn shoes on." He urged.
I grabbed my converse I had left by the door and followed Trevor outside just wearing socks. Once inside Trevor's truck I dusted the dirt off the bottom of my socks and pulled on my shoes as he began to speed down the cracked road.
"What does your shirt mean?" Trevor asked. I looked down at my black t shirt. "It's the album cover of Death Of A Bachelor." I replied.
"Death Of A Bachelor?"
"It's that Panic! At The Disco album. Crazy = Genius?"
Trevor repeated "Death of a Bachelor," quieter to himself. "I like that."
"I'll play you a song," I said excited to listen to P!ATD.
The sun was beading down on us as we rode. "Dammit." I said as I felt my empty pockets.
