I Could Die For You (Editing In Progress)

17

Almost 4 months had passed since I last saw Anthony. I was holding up my two jobs, working day in and day out. I was barely getting sleep, and my hair was just about at my waist now. I was being worked to the bone, but it was paying my bills. I had managed to get out of the money situation, but I was still barely making money to go out and spend money on groceries. I had talked to Anthony maybe twice in the past 4 months. Ever since that day I dropped him off at the airport he and I rarely called each other. On both occasions we did talk, it was because I had called him.
January rolled aorund, and I had my New Year's resolution all planned out. I had talked to a few music busniess savvy people, and landed a recording job L.A. This year, I was going to get my sound engineering on a roll. Nothing was going to stop me from getting this to work for me. So, today I was going to flight out from Seattle and temporarily stay in a motel as I recorded this band.
The band manager hadn't told me much about them, other than their name: Rage Against The Machine. I hadn't heard any of their music, or even seen them before. But, as far as I was concerned, I was going to produce and record their shit better than anyone.
My flight was over quickly, and I took a taxi straight to the studio. I was wearing ripped jeans, beat up converse and an oversized band shirt that I tucked in by my pants button so you could as least tell I was wearing some. My hair was up in a messy bun and I had bags hanging all over me. Luckily the recording would only be taking maybe 5-7 days, so I didn't need to pack too much. My tickets had been paid for by the company, but I was going to have to pay for the motel.
It took me a whole month of skipping bills and meals to be able to save money for a fucking motel. On the other hand, I was going to be paid almost 2,000 dollars. Which was going to save my ass.
I walked into the studio room and saw 4 guys sitting on couches eating chips and popcorn. I waved, and introduced myself to them all. They seemed pretty cool, so I figured their music was good. Turns out recording wasn't going to start until tomorrow, so I picked up all my bags and walked a block downtown to the cheapest motel in the history of cheap. It was dilapted in one part, and barely standing in the other. The owner was a dirty man, and I was regretting buying a room almost immediately. I walked the second story and unlocked my room. The carpet was stained, with wine or blood (I couldn't tell...), and the bed looked like someone was having lots of dirty sex in it. I set my bags down and went to check out the bathroom. The tile was muddy and the sink's water was rusty and brown.
I pulled back the shower curtain, and almost shit myself. Cockroaces scattered to the other side and hid in the drain. No matter how cheap I was paying for this place, there was no way I was sleeping in it. Being it was almost 4:00, I drove back to the studio and left my bags there. I was planning on sleeping on the couch for this stay.
I had been there for an hour laying around, when I had had enough of the boredom, so I took a walk down Sunset Strip.