Mr. Misty-Eyed | Josh Dun

reality | twenty-six

"Before you walk away,
there's one more thing I want to say,
Our brains are sick but that's okay."

. . . . .

"Look, you don't even have to pay us." Tyler tried once again the bargain with the man behind the counter, not caring in the slightest if he sounded desperate.

My eyes shifted around the place. It was one of the nicer, more popular bars in the city. Tiny lamps set out on tables glowed brightly in the low overhead lighting of the room and my jaw clenched as a sudden wave of anxiety washed over me. I took a cautious step toward my best friend, tearing my wide eyes away from the sight that only reminded me of my dream the previous night.

"I'm sorry, guys." The man looked apologetic, but his voice was stern. "We just aren't looking for musical acts at the moment."

"Right." Tyler grimaced and began to turn away. "Thanks for your time."

It wasn't the first time we had heard that response to our pleads today or even the day before. Yesterday, much to my dismay, we had gone our separate ways in hopes of covering more ground. But sadly, when we asked if there was room for us to play a show, most bars or clubs just laughed us off. Even The Social, where we had first performed, told us we weren't good enough. I guess that was my fault though because I had run away that horrible night. But I wasn't going to do that this time.

"Now what?" I asked as Tyler and I stepped out onto the sidewalk outside the bar, the man from inside once again apologizing for turning us away.

It didn't surprise me on some level. When people thought of bands, they pictured at least three guys playing instruments, not two lanky boys looking like they had no idea what they were doing. So it made sense that these establishments were skeptical of our talents.

"On to the next one, I guess." Tyler shrugged, easily letting the newest rejection roll right off his shoulders.

Thank god he was there, or I would have given up already. Determination was key in the endeavor and though I had found the slightest bit when I had told Tyler we should play another show, now after days of searching and rejection, I had lost most of it. And that's why Tyler was here, to pull me up and keep me afloat during stressful times.

. . . . .

"Are you sure this place is even open?" I questioned hesitantly as we stood outside the desolate stone building. It could be easily looked past if it wasn't the exact place you had set out to find.

There was no one around. It was like all life had disappeared once we had turned down the street. My heart started to beat a little quicker at the realization. The sound of crinkling paper caught my attention and I turned to look over at my best friend as he eyed the address written on it.

"Yup!" He sounded enthusiastic, the bright blue and purple tie-dye shirt he wore standing out against the grey building as he stepped toward the door.

The old metal hinges squeaked as Tyler pulled open the door, the frosted glass on the outside blacked out by trash bags. I shuddered as we stepped inside, the cement floor below my feet dirty and stained from the years of use.

"What can I do you for?" A gruff voice made me tense and I turned toward the sound to see a man with a washcloth standing near one of the many booths pushed up against the left wall. "We don't open till 5."