Grey

1

The table was dusty, not 'I haven't been cleaned in two weeks' dusty, but dusty with the remnants of her favorite material.

Clay.
Earthenware, red, muddy, clay.

The work area was organized well, her tools properly spaced to ensure nothing would interfere with the other.

Her phone placed neatly in a protective case, hooked up to Bluetooth headphones to ensure no matter what tried to distract her she wouldn't be.

She walked into the room in her comfort clothes, the clothing that let her feel as if she wasn't wearing any, the clothes she specifically saved in the locker of her private studio space at school to work in.

Armed with a bottle of water and several snacks in plastic wraps to prevent her digesting clay she sat.

She pulled her self made pipe out, filled it with the best weed grown in her country and took a deep breath.

She selected her favorite playlist, lit up and took a deep puff and relaxed into her calmest state.

She took the clay into her hands and began to let the music speak to her.

"I'll try it if it feels right,
This feels nice,
I've been down and lost for days
Glad I found you on the way."

She sang softly.
She was talented.
Well rounded.
Dance, Voice and Visual Arts.

Her friends knew.
Her friends also knew she was going through alot, they walked in and out of her studio space, along with other students who were drawn to her voice, some couldn't help but be entranced by the way she moved to the music which was loud enough to be heard by anyone throughout those powerful headphones, but the way she moved, and the way her hands moved, and her voice it was magical.

She was free in this moment, elbows deep in clay, singing on top of her lungs, not caring if lecturers and professors heard her, because she was in her space, being productive and no one could hinder her creativity in that moment.

Her door was open, you could hear the raw passion as she sang softly to the very raw and open song.

She could relate a lot to Travi$' music, there were rare moments when the man would open up and let his vulnerability show in his music.

He always had a facade up that seemed so genuine that if you weren't like him you wouldn't understand.

Laughing at jokes, making jokes, because you'd much rather pretend to be happy than remember why you're sad.

Her thoughts flowed as she formed magic from her clay.

She took a puff, drank some water and continued to work as it got darker outside and the people of Kingston went about their business.

---------------------------------------------------------

Jacques turned over in his bed, moaning, confused by his surroundings for a minute.

"Fuck." He sighed.
He picked his phone up checking the time and seeing a million emails, messages and calls.

He dropped his phone exasperatedly and took a deep breath before dragging himself out of bed and to his bathroom to take a shower and wash his troubles away.

He turned his water to the coldest temperature and stepped in leaning his head against the tiles as the water ran down his hair, to his face, neck, back then legs.

He liked this part, it was soothing.
He lathered himself, washed off and exited the shower with a towel to his hair and no where else enjoying the way the coolness that hit his body when he entered the AC cooled room.