Finding the Pure Note

The Only Answer Worth A Damn

I wander through fading lights and suffocating streets. Suffocating because the people press in around me, not looking on or caring, just moving further and further ahead, relentless, leaving me in their wake.

I've got over twenty missed calls from mum alone. Not to mention every other person trying to get in contact. I ignore them all. I know what they'll say, but I need to be alone. I need to... to figure things out. To figure myself out.

I was so, so confident in myself. In loving Fletcher. I thought nothing could change that, but with little effort, dad had thrown that all away, and I was left questioning what was once so certain.

In music, there is a branch called aleatory music, or chance music. The players are left to improvise, and more often than not that can lead to chaos. That's what my life felt like now. Like what was so assured only this morning was now left to chance, and I had to hope that the dice landed in my favour.

I've decided I'm not going to just roam blindly. I've done enough reeling, enough dancing with self-destruction. I came so close there to tipping over the edge, but I found my way to the city, and it had to be for a reason.

I'm a city creature. The lights, the smooth streets and endless stories formed on every street corner. I can get lost in the smoke, the pushing crowds, the atmosphere of hundreds and thousands of people moving with one singular purpose in mind, and it all blends together to form this mesh that it the sprawling city life. If I make it big, I want a flat in the city. If.

This was my city. I knew its neon-soaked corners, bathed and pounding with three-am dance beats. I knew that part very well. But I also knew the quieter areas, with quaint little cafes, and some lesser-known clubs. I had been avoiding one such establishment for the longest time. Was it because I always had these doubts, or did I just not want to be seen?

Whatever the reason, there's no more avoiding it. These are my kinds of people, after all. If they can't provide me with clarity, I truly am lost.

Heading up past the memorial building, I skim past empty bus stops, aware just how shitty the public transport is. They say they're building a 'rapid transit system' to help with congestion. I've never been of the patient sort, and I prefer walking anyway. It might mean I get to my destination thirty minutes later than some, but then I've always loved roaming the city streets, if just to find local talent and support the buskers.

The Three Spokes was more like a converted pub, iridescent blue lights illuminating the crumbling brick, making it more inviting for the LGBT+ community who for some reason are drawn to bright colours. At least that's what I'm led to believe. What's the fascination with a rainbow anyway?

Pushing through the heavy oak door, I am greeted by more colourful lights and a pleasant electro beat. Men and women—mostly in their early twenties dance about on a large dance floor, and friendly faces find you wherever you look. I almost smile.

I pass full tables, wondering what exactly I'm hoping to find here, and I think about turning back when I decide I want a drink. I have no idea how I'll get home, and frankly, I don't give a damn.

I order a whiskey, something I don't usually do, but I guess it's in the spirit of Fletcher. Drowning it down, I grimace and decide to go for another, drowning this down swifter than the first.

"Easy there," a pleasant voice remarks to my left. Glancing over, I'm met by a guy a few years older than me. He looks mild: with a slight frame, freckles and shaggy brown hair. In his hands are two beers, foam spilling out onto his fingers.

"Need a hand?" I laugh, feeling the whiskey start to take effect. I either go one of two ways when I drink: I become a loud jerk, or a bumbling softy. I'm not drunk yet, but I seem to be leaning more towards the latter Clay.