The cold air blew through the window, cars honking in anger as it echoed through the apartment. "Charlie, man." Bo started, strolling confidently into my room. "Hmm?" I hummed in response, setting my newly shined shoes in the center of the table. "Suit up." He demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Where to?" I asked, standing up.
"Open mic at Leon's." he answered, turning around to enter the living room.
"What, no. Bo, you take me to the weirdest places and we always end up with either the runs or an accent." I stated, rolling my eyes.
"This is legit, I promise, now we are leaving in..." He decided, staring at his Rolex, "seven minuets." I sighed in defeat, turning back into my room were I got dressed.
I glanced in the mirror, my short sleeve button up was the same shade as my blue eyes, buttoned all the way to the top, I wore red chuck Taylor's that matched my bow-tie, giving off the, "Hey ladies, I'm well dressed, wanna go to lunch?" Look.
"STOP TALKING TO YOURSELF AND LETS GO." Bo screamed from the other room. I picked up my pace to the door,
"Hey ladies, I'm well dressed, wanna go to lunch?" Bo mimicked in a low- totally inaccurate voice. I rolled my eyes and strolled out the door.
We made our way to, 'Leon's' and urban style café just down the street.
It was busy, almost crowded, but enough space for us and more to sit comfortably.
A busty blonde climbed on strange with excitement and charisma, her bun bouncing as she walked, "Hey everybody!" She smiled into the microphone, "Thank you so much for coming out tonight! We've got loads of talent to showcase for ya'll!" The crowd hollered forcefully with dull concentration.
"We have barista's on the floor for you guys, and warm cookies and cake! Our first act will be Elsie George!" She pronounced the fake last name with so much enthusiasm I almost suffocated myself with my own air. A small brunette girl scrambled on the stage, fixing her obviously fake 'hipster' glasses, as she stuttered out a deep poem about winter time, blah blah blah, boring.
Two cups of coffee and six acts later, a act climbed on stage that pulled my attention.
A girl, around my age, and guy about a year or two older, stood on the stage, two microphones in front of them as the man held a guitar in his grip, "Hey! This is Jeremy and I'm Rae and we are going to be sing'n a song!" She smiled, she has bright red hair ending below her hips, about 5'6, with a white bandana around her head, over her hair, knotted at the center of her forehead. She was attractive non the less.
The man started strumming a tune on the acoustic echoing through the building, they started singing, harmonies that gave me goose-bumps, the melody of the song flowed freely and beautifully, they pronounced each word the same, I watched in amazement, my eyes wide as the girl sang, and they guy strummed.
Once it finished everyone clapped, some standing, the girl smiled as she spoke into the mic, "That was a song by the one and only Jack Johnson."
She walked off stage with confidence, shaking hands with people, the smile not leaving her face.
The next person in stage was the first girl, the poem reader with fake glasses, "Th-this, um, I wrote this when I was in a really d-dark place. Um-this is called 'Scars'." She finished, starting her sad poem.
"You see, what her problem is- is that this is just too personal, despicable, depressing." A angelic voice ranted in my ear. I looked over to see the talented redhead that performed previously, her legs stretched out on the chair in front of her as she leaned back.
